My Life as a Reluctant Vampire
by nienorbun
Summary: Based on the Vampires the Masquerade: Bloodlines game. Being a vampire may sound glamorous, but the reality can be a little more...complicated.
1. Embraced

My first foray into fan fiction: naturally I don't own any of the characters or themes. For more on obscure terminology please visit the Vampires Masquerade wiki (White Wolf). I'm still figuring out the formatting tools so please bear with me.

Update: This is the new improved short first chapter: ugh, lots of work to rejig everything. Anyway, hope this makes it easier to read.

I'm finding writing this is getting harder as I go. Partly its because I seem to be drawing on some less savory memories of my past, partly cos apart from following the outline of the game, it seems to be starting to gain a direction of its own. I admit, at this point I'm winging it.

Also....reviews! Please give me some! My stats page tells me quite a few people have visited, it would be awesome if someone could give me a critique or even just a one liner.

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It all started the night I got picked up by some sleazy guy. I don't really remember much before that, but I recall that night clearly. The city was rainy but warm, with the smell of greenery in the air. The glow of bar lights threw strange coloured shadows on him. Looking back I realise what happened, but at the time I thought it was odd that I wasn't that attracted to him and yet still felt compelled to go back to his hotel room.

This strange compulsion made sex quite surreal; it wasn't exactly fun, but I couldn't seem to stop. The cheap overhead light, neon strobing outside and the moldy smell of the mattress gave the experience a nightmarish quality. And then of course, he bit my neck and cut himself and made me drink it. I'm no prude, but if I'd been able to break away, I would've.

Afterwards my guts cramped in agony and I found my muscles contracting in a mockery of the worst kind of withdrawal. I was dimly aware of him watching me intently from the chair before I slipped into darkness. When I came to, it was to the noise and confusion of a break-in. Shadowy figures burst through the door and impaled my new lover. I was grabbed and dragged and hit over the head. The fluorescent lightbulb seemed to explode before plunging me into unconsciousness again.

Waking up with a headache is never pleasant, and when it's while you're kneeling on a stage in front of an audience, as rough hands grip you, well, let's just say, I've had better times. In front of me a man in a suit strode up and down the stage. I tried to listen to his voice, but things were still so blurry and confusing. The faces of the crowd were far clearer: pallid faces even in shadow, with bright eyes and an intensity which seemed to pulse at me. One gaze, angry and brooding, caught my attention, but I was quickly distracted by the white flesh and lingerie of the woman in the front row.

With a jerk I realised the suit wearing man's soliloquy had come to an end. He motioned towards my sleazy pick-up and before I knew it the poor guy was headless and disintegrating into a pile of ashes. Whoah, I tell you, I was pretty freaked out. Mr. Suit started talking again, "And now the question of the childe…" A cold knot formed in my stomach as I realised he was talking about my fate. Getting my head cut off was starting to seem like it was in my immediate future. I struggled a bit, but the men gripping me had hands of steel, and the biggest guy I'd ever seen in my life was looming over me with a sword that looked more like a gigantic machete.

"This is bullshit!" shouted a man's voice from the audience. I focused on a man and a woman holding back a third. The brooding angry man was on his feet, shaking his fist at the guy in the suit. Hope leapt in my heart: someone out there was rooting for me! Fuck knows why, but if it meant I got to keep head and body together a bit longer, then who was I to question.

The suit stopped in mid-speech and scanned the crowd. Others were following my advocate's lead and the mood was turning dangerous. The suit (his name was something LeCroix) seemed well aware of this, and I felt him change mental tracks. Threat was replace by concern and fatuous altruistic babble about teaching me the 'laws'. I was hauled to my feet and hustled backstage while LeCroix convinced the audience it was all over. Dirty and torn and fragile, I only half-listened to LeCroix telling me that I would be sent to Santa Monica and observed to make sure I deserved his clemency. It was only when he left that I had a chance to look around me and realise that the movie theatre I was in was pretty old-school and had obviously been deserted for a long time. Everything I saw seemed to radiate intense energy. The red velvet hangings seemed to glow in front of me; I'm not sure how long I had been fixating on them before Jack turned up.

That's how he introduced himself; just Jack, and he was a scraggy dude for sure: ex-biker type, looking about 45-50, with a salt and pepper beard and shaggy eyebrows. But he had those same piercing bright eyes that the rest had, and his slang talk didn't diminish his experience. I listened to him tell me I was now a vampire, and go through all the basics of feeding, and disciplines and Camarilla and what not. None of it seemed real, but I couldn't deny that blood now tasted sweeter than Japanese plum wine, or that I felt capable of jumping to the moon. Vampire society seemed complicated and archaic; kind of like an undead Mafioso. Camarilla, Anarchs, Sabbat, factions within this underworld: I gathered LeCroix was Camarilla, Sabbat were bad – mad dogs killing without need- and Anarchs were the punk revolutionaries of the vampire world. I didn't ask what faction Jack belonged to; at that point in the conversation all I could hear was a pounding in my ears. I guess Jack noticed. "You had a drink yet, newbie?"

"Uh, you mean, blood? Yuck, no." The moment I said it I realised I no longer felt that way and imagining the hot copper taste started me salivating.

"Guy round the corner there," he indicated with a movement of his chin, "just don't kill him."

"I'm no killer."

He chuckled, "Good sentiments to start with kiddo, but we'll see how long they last."

I shrugged, thinking that I was going to have a hard enough time just convincing someone to let me drink their blood. I'd never exactly been intimidating to others, and getting screw tops off jars was usually the most physically challenging trial I faced. I trotted round the corner and down the alleyway towards the figure, then stopped bemused. He was in shadow and all I should've been able to see was the glowing tip of his cigarette. Instead he glowed with a pulsing aura of red life. It was incredibly beautiful.

"Get going!" I heard Jack whisper behind me. Dutifully I walked towards the well, human, I suppose I should say. He was tall, way taller than me, and I reflected ruefully that I would probably end up sucking on his wrist rather than his neck.

"Ah…excuse me?" I muttered, feeling like a bit of an idiot. The red aura around him was pretty intoxicating this close. I held out my arm in a half-hearted effort to pull him towards me. To my surprise, he leaned towards me, inclining his head as if to catch my words. Instinctively I grabbed behind his neck and bit down. It was a weird feeling, made stranger by the fact that he didn't resist. I stopped quickly, and backed away from him, waiting for his "what the fuck?!" response. It never came; he just stood there with head drooping and eyes closed.

Once back around the corner I looked questioningly at Jack, "Why didn't he fight me?"

"Kid, don't you know we vampires are all seductive and shit?" He leered. I raised an eyebrow: I was no supermodel, and I found it hard believing even some drunk biker-mama would've found him seductive. "No, really. Part of the power: some have it more than others, depending on their clan."

"Clan? What clan am I?" I asked a little guiltily. I probably should've been listening more closely when he'd gone over things earlier.

As I expected, he rolled his eyes and bonked me on the forehead with his knuckle. "Listen up, newb, this shit'll save your life. Your sire was a Tremere, and that makes you one too, although you didn't exactly follow the usual channels."

Seeing that I still looked completely confused he added, "You can see auras and shit, tell people what to do, and throw blood magic around like it's going out of style. Happy?"

"Are you -?"

He cut me off quickly, "No I goddamn aint. Proud to be Brujah, baby. Most of you Tremeres are stuck-up blood sorcerers who spend years kissing ass before they get embraced."

"Uh, ok." I looked around more hopefully than I felt. "So, um, are they going to pick me up later, or something?" Before I'd finished, Jack was shaking his head, and if I'd thought it was possible for that scarred cynical old face to show it, he was looking at me with something like pity.

"You're on your own kid; if you survive LeCroix's bullshit, you'll have to find your own way."

Well, that didn't sound very promising, but I was still buzzing from my quick drink and figured there was no point dwelling on it. Jack didn't seem to be either; he was sniffing the air like a bloodhound, his face crinkled in disgust.

"Sabbat!" he spat, "Get inside."

Feeling like I'd unwittingly signed up for some surreal gang-banger's existence, I entered the warehouse he pointed out to me. He pointed to an overhead walkway, and to my amazement, proceeded to jump up there like the pride of some Chinese acrobatics school. He motioned me to follow, and I did my best, but my muscles were acting like they were springs only half under my control, and I ended up knocking over a couple of crates on my way up. Jack rolled his eyes heavenward and sshed me impatiently. Feeling a complete clumsy dork I crawled after him as he sneaked his way over to the window. Again he indicated with his chin out the window. I peeked over the ledge into the street below and saw my first taste of proper vampire on vampire violence.

There were three guys: two looked fairly normal in a dime-bag drug-dealer kind of way, but the third was teetering on the edge of monstrous – elongated hands with claws and protruding fang teeth. It made me wonder how he got around the city without seriously causing a panic. They faced LeCroix's machete wielding associate, who didn't seem at all put out by the odds of three to one. As I watched, the two opened fire with automatic weapons, phasing machete man not at all. He held up a hand and squeezed eldritch blue fire from it. It was all I could do not to cry out when I saw ghostly wolf-forms materialise and worry their throats until they disintegrated in a shower of glowing ashes. He dispatched the last by breathing on his hand, air that showered his opponent with insects who vanished with the ashes of his death. Lastly he looked up at our window and nonchalantly acknowledged Jack with a gesture, before disappearing into the shadows.

"Holy fuck." I breathed, trying in vain to wrap my brain around what I'd just witnessed.

"Welcome to unlife." The humour in Jack's voice was hard as stone.

I opened my mouth for some stupid quip rejoinder, but he'd already moved on, explaining the Sabbat in curses while he navigated a locked door, a safe and finally led me down to a basement.

"Sabbat between us and the exit: I'm taking the scenic route, you take that fucker out and join me on the other side." He scaled a wall and vanished through a vent before I could protest. I considered trying to follow him, but I'd already proved to not be the best climber in the world. When in doubt take the direct route. I shrugged and sneaked through the door.

There was indeed a Sabbat between me and the exit: he resembled a younger weaker version of the clawed guy on the street. He didn't know I was there until I already had my hands on his throat. It was sickeningly easy to crush everything under my hands, and his death rattle was followed by the dissolution I was becoming familiar to. I stood there stunned for what seemed like ages: all my life I'd believed life was sacred and now here I was snuffing it out without a second thought. I wondered if he'd been like me, an unwilling unknowing forced recruit.

Even from the other side of the door I could hear Jack's impatient sigh, so I forced myself out of my reverie. More than anything up until that point, walking through that door and leaving the ashes of someone _I'd_ killed behind me, signified my entrance into a new existence.

Jack showed me some non-vampire skills before I left for Santa Monica: how to shoot a gun, basic lockpicking, and the ground rules of the Camarilla. Uphold the Masquerade above all. Count your link to humanity as infinitely precious. Make sure you fed enough to hold off the Beast. That part scared me the most: the idea that lack of blood would drive me to a violent frenzy, completely submerging my conscious self. But hey, on the plus side I was getting set up in some dingy apartment in Santa Monica, with some undefined goal I had to reach to stay alive. Good times! Yeah.

Anyway, Jack's last words before the cab from LeCroix picked me up were, "If you live long enough, come to the Last Round and I'll fill you in on the politics. Kid, that's what'll kill ya."


	2. Santa Monica

This used to be part of the first chapter, but it was too long.

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Santa Monica: I'm sure it's a wonderful town in the Cali sunshine, but by night it's decrepit and garish at the same time. It also rains more than you'd expect. I don't know, it's difficult for me to separate my impressions of the town from the riot of new stimulus that came with being a vampire. Even the bums glowed with the scintillating red aura of life, and every smell, every sound, seemed magnified. My first night I spent a good half an hour standing staring at a palm tree while its leafy branches quivered with energy.

So, I had an apartment, above a pawn shop. It was really grotty, but it came with a fridge full of blood (in packages) and a verging-on-obsolete lap top. And if my email inbox was anything to go by, apparently I'd signed up for a whole whack of vampire spam-mail. Cryptic comments, an invitation to visit the Tremere headquarters, and instructions on who to contact from LeCroix. It irked me that his emails were so professional and devoid of personality. I mean, this was the guy who had been ready to cut my head off. But now we were 'business associates', according to him. Not for long, I promised myself.

I sat in that bare depressing apartment and tried to figure out a plan. Get some money: no, I had to see a guy called Mercurio first. He would tell me what task I would be doing for LeCroix. A task which would undoubtedly be difficult and dangerous. I decided then and there, that I would take care of myself before seeing LeCroix's goon. What was important to me? I couldn't remember my past, and I certainly couldn't return to it. I was adrift and alone, without all the usual associations which make up a personality in normal situations. All this added up to a burning desire for an mp3 player and a playlist that could be the Soundtrack of my life. It's the little things that keep us going.

The trail of blood that led into Mercurio's apartment was my first sign that things were not going to be easy. Big dark smears all over his marble hallway (much posher than mine). He was sprawled on his couch, groaning with pain. Mercurio was a step beyond the vampire Mafioso, and square in the centre of East Coast Mafia-goon ville. Not that he didn't seem like an ok human being: and if he was telling the truth about being over 60, then life as a ghoul suited him, but he was still almost a goodfella parody. Unfortunately, he'd been jumped, and an integral part of my LeCroix task was being held by some small time hoods. "Get the astrolite back, and make it hurt!" he commanded. I nodded silently, and made a mental note to see if the pawnshop had any Ipods. Then a pang of guilt struck me; this guy was seriously hurt and in pain. "Can I get you anything?" I asked tremulously.

"Something for the pain." He groaned. I nodded again, and left in a hurry.

Luckily the hospital was just across the way. It wasn't until I was there that I considered how ludicrous the situation was. How was I supposed to get something for his pain without revealing way too much? By the time I was thinking this, the long line-up of prospective patients had melted away and I found myself staring into the implacable eyes of the night receptionist. I fumbled for words, and listened in disbelief to my own voice speaking in suave, commanding tones. "I need to get some drugs for my friend." I said. Her eyes glazed over and she pointed vacantly around the corner. Taking this as a cue to move, I wandered around the corner and down the hall, with a vague idea about finding some painkillers.

Hospitals are different when you're a vampire. You can smell the sickness and pain like a palpable entity. Oh, and locked doors and cupboards are no obstacle (especially if someone like Jack has given you an awesome lockpick). Soon I had some morphine, a bunch of other weird pills I hoped were worth something, and a basement contact for bloodpacks at an outrageous $94 per.

After exchanging the assorted pills for a beat up ipod shuffle at the pawnshop, and even managing to get the young pot-head of a pawnbroker to fill it up with an assortment of tunes, I watched Mercurio down some morphine and set off to find the hoods. He'd mentioned the beach off the pier, so I headed in that direction. Once through the parking garage and clear of the car fumes I could smell the night air of the Pacific Ocean. The soft kiss of the waves mingled with the distant thrum of the city. Lights from the pier sparkled like demented constellations, their quavering reflections colouring the water with subtle shades. Far off a ship's horn sounded.

A group of pale aura'd beings huddled round a beach fire. Their life glows were pale violet rather than human red. Looking with more human eyes I saw three men and a woman dressed in surfy style clothing. Their eyes were bright, but I sensed there was something wrong with them. They made me feel like I was brimming with vitality in comparison.  
"D-don't h-h-hurt us!" stammered one of them: a skinny guy with a short ginger faux-hawk and bad tattoos. I backed up warily; for all his timidity, the group was enclosing me in a semi-circle, their body language tense and threatening.

"Hold up, hold up!" I squeaked. "Unless you have my explosives, I'm not looking for a fight."

"The others wanted to hurt us. They laughed too, and called us 'thin-bloods'." The most quintessentially surfer of them had a deep Australian burr.

"I'm new, new to all this," I gestured expansively, "I don't even know what a thin-blood is. I just have to get some astrolite back from some dudes who are supposed to be round here, then I'll be on my way. I swear."

The woman, who had thick dark curls and an eastern European lilt, answered me. "Dey are up the steps, over dere." She pointed to some metal stairs leading up the cliff at the edge of the beach. "Beach house, many men, many weapons."

"Ok, thanks." I started to go and turned back on impulse. "If you want, I can try and find it out; what thin-bloods are, I mean. You do know you're vampires, right?" I added.

They all nodded disconsolately. I shrugged, embarrassed by their attitude, and jogged towards the stairs.

The beach house was isolated on the edge of the cliff: one level, lots of exterior lights. A thug stood guarding the gate, holding a baseball bat. I bit my nails nervously as I crouched in the shadows, waiting for some inspiration on how to deal with this situation. At that moment I felt about as unsuited to vampiric life as one could get. Terrible to say, but the phrases "It's not fair," and "I'm just a girl." kept going through my head. I tried to remember what Jack had taught me about using my Discipline powers. I also felt it was only doable if I picked them off one by one as much as possible. If only the whole place wasn't so lit up!

I sneaked through the shadows to the side fence. It was wooden slatted, and luckily some slats were loose. With careful fiddling, I managed to remove a couple and squeeze through. Sometimes it's a problem to be short and small-boned, sometimes it's a boon. From there it was easy to sneak around the back and kill the fuse-box, plunging the place into darkness. Elated with my success so far, I giggled while I listened to the thugs argue about who got to go fix the fuse-box. I heard the slam of a door and low-level grumbling as the most expendable thug walked towards me. Soon he was right in front of me. Gently, I reached out and tugged his trouser leg without any clear idea of what to do next. "What the?!" he exclaimed. I looked up straight into his eyes and all awareness left them. He was infinitely pliable as I dragged him down to the ground. The thirst for blood was overwhelming, but I stopped to look at his face. Young, with coarse features and bad skin, dressed in a dirty hoody and sweatpants. I knew I had to kill him, but my hands shook. It seemed so wrong to extinguish the glow of his life. Who was I to say he deserved death, to pass the final judgement on his existence?

"Get it together." I reprimanded myself sternly. I wanted to live, and to do that, I had to get this stupid explosive back. That meant he had to die. It was that simple. Steeling myself, I knelt over him and bit into his neck. His body spasmed, but my new vampiric strength enabled me to hold him down, while I drained the blood from his body. I could feel his pulse slow, feel the warm liquid nourish the fibres of my being. And then he was dead, and I left him on the ground like a discarded doll. Pretty brutal.

The rest of them were harder because they were now suspicious and alert. I'd taken a tire-iron from my first kill and I used it to stealth-kill another when he and his buddy came around the corner. But his friend was now fully aware of me, yelling his head off, and I got too flustered to send him into a trance. It must've looked funny: a 5' 4" woman jumping on a 6 ft thug with the intention of doing him violence. But my enhanced body overpowered him and his neck was easy to snap. Three more surrounded me and one of them managed to whack me in the head with his bat. Even as tears of shock sprang to my eyes, my vampire instincts forced me to roll with it and come up fighting. Of its own volition my hand came up and what looked like an arrow of blood shot towards his chest. He went down with blood bubbling from his mouth as my arrow returned to me, invigorating me with new vitae. The second gang-banger rushed me; I dodged neatly and tripped him. He landed sprawling and it was quick work to stomp his neck bones to powder. The last man standing dropped his bat with a yell of fear and turned to run. He made it exactly two steps before I dropped him with a blood arrow.

Adrenalin still coursing through me, I stood there trembling. I was surrounded by bodies. A wave of nausea overwhelmed me and I threw up dark blood into the sandy soil. Kneeling there I scrubbed sand on my skin, trying desperately to get the blood off. I felt disgusted by the ease with which I had killed. I remembered my words to Jack, "I am no killer." and bit down on a sob of anguish. Was it really worth it to live like this? Slowly I regained control of my breathing. Time to take stock of the situation. The thugs were dead. Nothing stood between me and the astrolite: all I had to do was get it back to Mercurio. Still trembling I got to my feet. Eyes averted from the bodies I dashed into the house. The place was a pit: empty pizza boxes and beer cans everywhere. Weapons, porn magazines: these guys hadn't exactly lived in style. I found the astrolite on a table surrounded by drug fixings. A sense of self-preservation made me scoop up some extra drug baggies, an envelope of bills and a car stereo. More stuff for the pawnshop. With any luck soon I would have enough money for a red-eye bus ticket away from all this insane crap.


	3. Too Much Running Around

As I trotted back down the stairs to the beach, the thin-blood crew crowded around me. "We heard the screams," the Australian said, "were you serious about helping us?"

Wearily I wiped the back of my hand across my face and nodded.

"M' name's E. Uh, you might want to change clothes or wash or something."

I looked down, noticing as I did so that my clothes and skin still had smears of blood. Luckily I was wearing black so the stains wouldn't show, but I did walk over to the shore to wash. E followed me. "Find a vampire named Lily: she's the one turned me. She's the one told me about thin-bloods." He looked away, "Tell her I want to see her."

"Know where I can find her?" I asked, wiping my hands on my jeans.

He shrugged, "Try the diner, that's the last place we hung out."

"Ok, I'll get to it as soon as I can." I turned away and walked off the beach. Adrenaline and stress now gone, I felt completely exhausted. I just wanted to get back to my crappy apartment and crash out on the dirty bed.

I made it back well before sunrise. I'd always kind of thought it was like the movies and vampires had to sleep in coffins and were pretty comatose during the day. Truth was, I was a vampire with insomnia, and I lay there awake but too tired to do anything, watching the movement of the sun behind the blinds. My mind went round and round in circles, trying to find a solution to my intolerable situation. My first instinct was to just get on a bus and flee, but without any safe place to go to, and no money, I knew the sun would get me. I wished I could contact Jack, or the guy who'd stopped me getting killed. Unfortunately, it seemed that in order to make it to the Last Round and find Jack, I would have to do this task for LeCroix and Mercurio. But I dreaded having to fight anyone again, and I had a feeling Mercurio was going to ask me to do just that. So I sighed and tossed and turned, impatient to be able to turn in the Astrolite and get it all over with. The sounds from outside, of the every-day daylit world made me feel very lonely.

As soon as the light faded, I showered, only to find myself having to put back on clothes stiff with dried blood. I juggled priorities in my head and moved the idea of clothes shopping higher up. I fully intended to go to Mercurio right away, but instead I puttered on the laptop, downloading and adding more tunes. Only when I had a good playlist going did I feel ready to face the outside world. I blasted music as I slipped out of the exit and walked over to Mercurio's. I felt like every human passing would see in my face that I had killed, that I was a monster. In reality, noone paid attention: I was a small non-descript figure amongst many. It was raining again, making the concrete slick and shiny with reflected light. The splashing of feet and tires in puddles was very loud in my ears. Coming to Mercurio's building, I stood in front of it for a song's length (Talking Heads – Under the Water), unable to motivate myself to enter. Oh well, here we go, I whispered to myself.

After turning in the astrolite and listening to what Mercurio had to say, I almost left on the spot.

"You want me to what?!" I hissed, too angry to be diplomatic.

He repeated, "You gotta use the astrolite to blow up some Sabbat warehouse. That's all I know."

But of course it wasn't even that simple. The only person who could get me into the warehouse was in hiding because of a tiff with some vampire bitch. My next task was to convince her to call off her death-threat on a certain Bertram Tung. I was starting to think that vampire society resembled some set of weird high school cliques.

"Why don't you go? Why the hell would she listen to me?" I argued.

Mercurio sucked his teeth: an annoying habit. "I'm just a ghoul, she won't talk to me. You're a full vampire, straight from LeCroix: you got more clout than ya think." He looked me up and down, "If I were you, I'd get better gear before I went to see her. She's kinda snooty."

Choking on my anger, I spun on my heel and walked out. Once outside I stopped to reflect that he was right about the clothes. Surely Santa Monica had a mall, but without any transport I was pretty stuck in that neighbourhood. Wandering aimlessly, I looked up to see the lights of a diner on the corner. Remembering E's words, I went inside.

The diner interior didn't look like it had been remodelled since the early '80s, and there was a serious overuse of chrome and fake red leather. The food under glass looked wilted and sad. Only the smell of coffee was impressive. The ancient waitress/owner was initially non-responsive until I mentioned E and Lily. Then she lit up, remembering Lily as such "a polite and pretty young thing." I had no trouble convincing her to give me the purse Lily had left behind. Rooting through it I found some car keys and a ticket stub for the parking garage near the beach.

It took me awhile walking around pressing the unlock button and waiting to hear a response. Finally I heard an answering beep from a red car (don't ask me what make, I know nothing about cars). Lily's car yielded a ton of goodies: a rather emo diary, some money, and a travelling bag full of girly essentials such as makeup, bath stuff and some clothes. Her taste ran rather to psychedelic surf-girl, but I took them back to my apartment and tried them on. She was obviously taller than me, but a pair of dark blue board shorts, an execrable t-shirt with fluorescent fractals on it, and a plain black hoody fitted well enough. She had jewellery too: hippy silver and semi-precious stone stuff (I cringed at the fairy earrings). Strangely, it felt more intrusive to take her jewellery than her clothes, so I left them in the bag on my bed. Her diary had been very helpful, telling about her seduction and embrace, which were followed by her sire's rejection because she was a 'thin-blood'. According to the information he gave her, 'thin-bloods' were considered deficient and embarrassing in the vampire world. In the last entry she wrote that she was having trouble feeding on humans and was going to try to steal some blood from the hospital.

Part of me wanted to just get LeCroix's mission done as soon as possible, but something about E and the person that emerged from Lily's diary made me want to reunite them, give them a little happiness in their otherwise bleak lives. So I headed back to the hospital and browbeat my blood pack connection with what I was coming to call my Voice. Even under my mental dominion, he wasn't happy about giving up the code to the secret room where Lily was imprisoned. He didn't volunteer why or who had her captured, and I didn't ask. I just stormed in there and released the poor girl. They had her strapped down on a gurney, and she was obviously desperate for blood. Not knowing at the time that it was considered a grave crime by the Camarilla and the emblem of the Sabbat, I gave her some of mine. She clung to my wrist, and eventually I had to push her away, but by that time she looked a lot better.

I could see why E liked Lily. They made a good couple, both being pretty, tanned surfies, and they both had the same faded emo air about them. Lily looked kind, and smarter than her dress sense gave the impression of. If she noticed I was wearing her clothes, she didn't show it. We had a short conversation: she told me nothing I hadn't already learned from her diary. I told her to go talk to E and she burst into tears of blood (quite disturbing!), happy that he wasn't angry at her anymore. I escorted her out of the hospital and watched her red-gold hair swinging as she ran towards the beach entrance.

Feeling good about myself, I focused on my next objective. Go to the Club Asylum and convince the owners Therese and Jeannette to patch things up with my contact for the warehouse.

I could rant for hours about how annoying Therese and Jeannette were, and all the hoops they made me jump through. Their club was pretty small-time and the music was too loud and too bad for me to want to dance. I was trying to get information out of the surly bartender when Jeannette sashayed up: a vision of supernatural trashiness. Dressed like an early Brittney Spears clone in a Catholic schoolgirl kilt and midriff shirt, she had taken her image to heights of ludicrousness by topping it all off with pigtails. I reconsidered; maybe she had a method behind the bad taste. The effect of her bright silver eyes shining out from deep pools of mascara was surreal and captivating. There was no question about it: we both knew the other was a vampire.

"Ohh, you're such a scrumptious little morsel!" she trilled, and then her voice dropped into a purr, "So new and fresh and delightful. Whatever shall we do with you?" She tilted her head to one side coquettishly. I'm sure that kind of behaviour made her the belle of the ball with human men, but the artifice of it made my skin crawl.

"I need to talk to you and your sister about Bertram Tung." I said bluntly.

Jeannette sighed, and let her mask droop a little, "It's always business, business, business with vampires. Sooo boring!" Grabbing my hand she started to pull me towards the elevator. By the time it was moving, she had recovered her poise and giggled while she twined her fingers in my hair. "How pale: it's almost like silver!" she exclaimed. "You're so lucky; just about everyone in Santa Monica has my hair colour." She pulled a lock of our hair beside each other to compare. I flushed: my first instinct was to pull away, but I needed her and her sister to be well-disposed towards me.

"Couldn't you dye it?" I suggested. She reacted with a mixture of horror and amusement.

"Such an innocent little fledgling! Even if it shouldn't be all those other girls who should stop copying me," she narrowed her eyes and pouted like a princess, "don't you know it wouldn't stay in more than one night?"

I shrugged, thinking that options of disguise if I ever had to hide were now narrowed. My so-blonde-it's-white hair was the only thing that really stood out about me in a crowd.

The flow of thoughts was interrupted by the sensation of wriggling fingers working their way up the front of my t-shirt. Jeez, she moves fast, I thought, instinctually slapping her hand away. Luckily the elevator doors opened at that point, and I ducked out into the hallway, studiously ignoring Jeannette's very directed smouldering look.

"Wait here, "she flounced, "Therese doesn't like surprises."

She vanished through a gilded door, and almost immediately I heard arguing female voices. The voices became shrill and angry, rising to a crescendo of door slamming. After a moment of silence a more composed voice asked me to come in.

Therese was the direct opposite of her sister: ice-cold and professional, wearing a demure charcoal skirt suit. Her mass of red hair was scraped back into a tight bun. She didn't look all that happy to see me.

"Does LeCroix know you're bothering me?" She snapped. "Tell me why I should make peace with that disgusting Nosferatu on some fledgling's say-so."

"B-because I need his help to do this job for LeCroix," I stammered. The aggression and spite in her voice was quite off-putting.

"Oh very well then. I can't refuse the Prince anything." She fixed me with a gimlet eye. "But you must do something for me first."

I stifled a groan. Why couldn't anything ever be easy when dealing with vampires and their ghouls? Why did they always seem to have at least three layers of hidden agendas?

Therese told me in clipped tones about what she wanted me to do. Go to a haunted hotel, find a locket, bring it back to her, blah blah blah. My attention started to wander. The whole of one wall was covered by a huge creepy oil painting of two little girls. Behind them stood a dark brooding man; his eyes seemed to fix on me. If this was a family portrait then it explained a lot about the weirdness of the two sisters.

"Are you listening to me? I need this done tonight. Be aware that I will certainly be reporting your performance back to LeCroix!"

I nodded dutifully. Hopefully I could find this damn locket quickly.

"Well get on with it then. You can see yourself out." Feeling imperiously dismissed, I left.

I reached the Ocean House Hotel through the sewers. Since becoming a vampire I hadn't really thought about the possibility that other supernaturals existed, but that place was certainly haunted. A dusty, burnt-out, creepy shell of a place, and the ghost was pretty grumpy, but what could a ghost really do against a vampire? My biggest problem was finding the locket, but luckily there were a lot of signposts provided by the other ghost, a murdered woman. I left as soon as I found it, by the expedient process of jumping out the second floor window.

As I wove my way back to the Asylum, I reflected that in spite of myself I was becoming more and more comfortable with the whole vampire schtick. As long as I didn't have to fight much, I felt I could get by. I just had to get out from under LeCroix's thumb and find somewhere to chill out.

Therese was out, leaving Jeannette in charge. Ugh. She wheedled and simpered and tried to get me to give her the locket. I refused as politely as I could, guessing that Therese would be less than happy if I did. Eventually she tired of her little game and told me to get lost, which I did. The sun would soon be rising, and I was glad to get back to my apartment, grotty as it was. I guess my experience with the ghost took more out of me that I had thought; I feel asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Even vampires dream, and mine were strange and confused. A man on a hill, at the centre of a thunderstorm. Lightning cracked from his hand. I couldn't see his face, but his eyes glowed silver, tiny sparks popping from their irises. The mood was one of intense fear and foreboding. The thunder rolled and in it I heard his voice.

I felt tired when I woke up. The sun was already down, and I was getting pretty tired of wearing Lily's clothes. I was also getting pretty tired of being the runner for every vampire and their flunky in the area. On the other hand, I did have some reason to celebrate: I'd lasted a full four nights as a vampire, without really having a clue what I was doing. Whee, I was still alive, sort of!

It was a warm glowy sort of night when I padded back over to the Asylum. There was a moon, and its reflected light glittered off the tarmac. The faintest breeze touched the edges of the palm trees; I felt wildness surge in me. My heightened sensations and auspex sight were better than any drug. The feeling quickly deflated: I was still basically an indentured servant.

Jeannette was there, again. I ground my teeth listening to her talk. "I'll give you a second chance to make me happy," she said seductively.

"Forget it, I'm not giving you the locket."

"And darling, I'm not asking you to. All I want you to do is the teensiest weensiest (at this point I spiritually threw up in my mouth a little) favour. This boring old art show is being held near here. Won't it be funny if they start their opening and all the paintings are destroyed! Won't you do this little thing for me sweetie?"

Resisting the urge to strangle her, I tried to get a definite answer. "And if I do this, I get to see Therese and she does what I need?"

Jeannette nodded and giggled archly. Seeing that that was all I was going to get out of her, I stomped off. This was getting ridiculous: vampires were so Machiavellian with their desire to overcomplicate everything. Thank god for lockpicks, that's all I can say. Inside the art gallery it was clean and quiet and there seemed to be very little security. But I found the paintings so interesting I spent quite some time in there. They were paintings about Caine and Lilith. I didn't realise until after, when Beckett and Jack explained vampire history to me, that they were vampire paintings. Paintings about the first vampire, probably painted by a vampire. The colours certainly throbbed and vibrated strangely under my enhanced vision. It seemed a shame to mutilate them.

"Think about your end goal." I told myself, jumping a little at the sound of my voice echoing through the gallery. I'd picked up a knife from the pawnshop earlier: it was old but still serviceable. Feeling like I was involved in some kind of ritual, I slashed each painting in order. This turned out to have been a really bad idea, because lines of blood started to emanate from the broken paintings, coalescing into a humanoid blood monster. I shrieked and waved the knife randomly between us. Blood shouldn't have claws but I felt them scrape across my face. Wet claws too, it was an icky feeling as well as being truly scary.

Hyperventilating with fear, I slashed and stabbed at this creature as best I could. It ducked to try and slash my torso, but one of my wild flailings stabbed it in the face and it reeled back keening. I stabbed and stabbed like a mad thing, and then all of a sudden it was gone, falling to a puddle on the floor. Thirsty as I was, I decided not to lap up that blood source.

It took me awhile to get myself together after that, but eventually I was sneaking out of the gallery's back exit, one charity box richer. Sure, I felt a bit bad about that, but at this point I definitely qualified as a charity case.

Returning to the Asylum was like walking into a nightmare, you know, that one where you go to school naked. Apparently, the art show had been Therese's pride and joy and now I had to listen to her scream at me about what an idiot I was.

"Argh! This is all Jeannette's fault. Just cos I wouldn't give her the goddamn locket! Here, take it!" I completely lost my temper, forgetting any ideas of keeping things cool and diplomatic.

Instantly Therese transformed back into the business-like ice queen. "Well, that's a start. But I'm not letting you off the hook: one last thing before we're even. No, don't interrupt," she went on, seeing my grimace, "I need you to apologise to Jeannette for me. I said some harsh words, and I need her to know I'm not angry with her anymore. She's hiding from me in the all-night diner."

"You have got to be fucking kidding. I really can't take any more of this." I turned to leave, but she snaked out an arm and grabbed my wrist.

"You will do this," she hissed, "or I will tell LeCroix he made a mistake letting you exist."

I swallowed convulsively. The trap had closed like a vise, and now all I could do was follow it through. My continued existence rested on Therese's good will. Unable to look her in the eye, I nodded quickly. She let go of my wrist and I beat a quick retreat, overflowing with frustrated anger and fear.

Outside, I leaned against a wall, resting my forehead against the cool brick. Things seemed to be rapidly getting out of control. My fight with the blood monster was still freaking me out, and now being played like a ping pong ball between two insane vampire sisters seemed likely to get me killed.


	4. One Step Closer

I found Therese and Jeannette quite hard to write dialogue for: I could've just used the lines from the game, but I'm going for the feeling of the world rather than slavish copying (I hope). Anyway, I hope someone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing it!

* * *

The moment I entered the diner I knew something was up. The elderly waitress was gone, and the only customers were five gang-types in a huddle against the back wall. They looked up as I entered, showing me hard, heartless expressions. My first thought was escape, but as I backed up, the door closed behind me, and the men started to rise, pulling out pistols and knives. I still hesitated, unable to find the courage to start the fight. The guy in front of the pack started to move towards me with a nasty grin. He had a scarred face and a bunch of tattoos which were obviously done with a prison gun. His knife was relaxed in his hand.

"Gonna have us some fun tonight, yeah." He looked over his shoulder and grinned to his friends. Fighting rising panic I stunned him with a domination trance. His buddies couldn't understand why he suddenly went slack: one pushed him aside and opened fire on me. Time seemed to slow as I saw the bullet spinning towards me: the faces of my assailants were momentarily frozen in a rictus of hate. I ducked and moved into their circle, feeling the power of my blood move within me. Arrows of blood jetted from my body and impaled them every which way. They purged blood from their mouths, unable to defend themselves. My fists and claws battered them without finesse, feeling weak and clumsy to me. But I guess I was stronger than I felt, for they soon formed a circle of bodies around me, laid out like petals opening on a morning flower. I should have felt powerful, even invincible in that moment. Instead my most intense emotion was powerlessness. Control begins from inside, and if you don't know what your body is going to do next, it makes life pretty stressful. Not to mention the fact that outside circumstances were following a pattern I just couldn't fathom. What the fuck was wrong with Therese and Jeannette? Their behaviour made absolutely no logical sense.

One of the phones at the back started ringing. Speak of the devil: it was Jeannette, bawling down the phone at me about how her sister was going to kill her and had her trapped in that upstairs room. I couldn't answer I was so angry: I slammed the phone down.

Police car lights were gathering outside the curtained windows of the diner. Time for a tactical disappearance. The diner building was a single storey; there was roof access, and I used it. Crouching in the roof shadows, I watched the flashing lights and busy humans. It was hard not to be changed, to not get blasé about all the killing. I started counting on my mental fingers. No, that couldn't be right: had I really killed more people than I'd had a conversation with since becoming a vampire? Apparently I had. I wasn't sure how hard it would be for me to kill a vampire, but I vowed that if I was at all capable of it, Therese and Jeannette would be next. I slunk into an alley way and made a roundabout route to the Asylum.

It's funny how you can think you have a situation all worked out in your head, and you know what's coming next, and then boom, the pieces fall into completely different places from what you expected. I expected to find Therese and Jeannette in their room with the creepy painting. I expected Therese to be holding Jeannette captive. In some sense I got what I expected, but that didn't change the fact that Therese and Jeannette were sisters only in the same way that our left brains are sisters to the right.

She wore the suit, Therese's suit, but half her head was made up like Jeannette. Depending on which personality spoke, her face twisted and rippled into changing expressions and mannerisms. She pointed the gun at herself, while one hand fought with the other. At first I just stood there staring, opening and closing my mouth like a fish. How could I have thought they were truly separate beings? The extremeness of their one-sided behaviours coalesced in my mind until I saw the deeply deranged whole. Then the gun swung round to face me, and I found myself babbling, trying to get a bead on the situation.

"It's ok, calm down, everything's going to be ok. Just calm down and we can work everything out." I found myself saying, waving my hands palm outwards in a placating gesture.

Her face stiffened into Therese. "I've had enough of this little whore always ruining my plans." The Jeannette side tried to protest but she clamped down on it. "She's disgusting: do you know she still fornicates with kine?"

This sentence confused me a bit at the time, but asking afterwards, I learned that vampires aren't normally sexually active (or interested in it at all – power was their drug and delight).

Jeannette popped to the surface, "All I've ever cared about is us, dear sister, but you are such a control freak sometimes!" she sobbed.

"Um, hello, can we back up here a sec?" I interjected. "You do know you're sharing the same body, yeah?

The head nodded and then twisted as Therese took over. "Maybe, but our minds are too different to co-exist." She snarled.

"But you must have been one, once." I pointed out. Their reaction was so vehement it surprised me.

"Never!"

"Never!"

Both her(their?) eyes flicked to the canvas that dominated the room.

"Ah." I looked again at the two little girls in the painting, their white shoulders clenched by the hands of the man behind them, and felt a surge of pity.

"But you've been looking out for each other for a long time, right?"

Two people in one body trying to look at each other does not work, and made my head hurt to see. Her eyes rolled inwards, face continually moving. Suddenly they popped back into a frown. "_I_ have always looked after _her_." Therese's voice.

"Because you cared." I ventured. It was really hard to play the therapist with them when all I wanted to do was get Bertram Tung's location; go back to bed, and sleep for a very long time.

"All we've ever had is each other!" sobbed the Jeannette side with pathos.

I found it hard not to roll my eyes whenever Jeannette spoke, but I feigned sympathy to both of them.

Do I really want to bore you with the rest of that conversation? Therese played hard to convince, and Jeannette whined, but eventually I talked them into making peace and giving me the gun. Tung was hiding out in an old oil tank at a Sunco Gasoline depot down the way. Therese and Jeannette launched into a long private conversation about changing their image(s). Emotionally drained, I tried to sneak out, but Therese's eye glinted at me.

"A word of advice, fledgling. Image makes the vampire: you're more likely to get co-operation if you dress professionally."

A Jeannette giggle wafted after me as I closed the door. I glanced down at my clothes – Lily's clothes – they were spattered with dried blood. I grimaced: having to do laundry all the frigging time was not the first thing I'd thought of in connection with vampires.

I paid a visit to my blood pusher at the hospital before going home, grabbing a couple of blood packs for supper. I really couldn't afford it, but I was too tired to contemplate stalking or seducing anyone for blood. I also knew I should've gone to see Bertram right away, but I didn't feel like getting stuck in the middle of some strange place so soon before dawn.

'Laundry' was washing my clothes in the sink and hoping for the best, since all the laundromats were closed at 4 in the morning. Supper was sucking on a blood pack while I sat cross-legged in my underwear on the bed and watched sales programs. Ah, the glamorous life of a vampire.

I went into the bathroom to squeeze more water out of my clothes and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yes, some vampires can see themselves in mirrors. They tell me that we all get the facial blur though: it's a bit like looking at your self through a beer glass. But I could see my lank pale hair well enough, snaking over my shoulders. For some reason it made me really angry, so pure and glistening; looking so much better than it ever did while I was alive. Suddenly furious at the fact I was a vampire, I dashed into the room, grabbed my knife and started hacking off great chunks of hair. What the fuck do you think you're doing, little miss emo, an inner voice mocked, but I ignored it.

By the time I'd finished, the sun was coming up and my blurred reflection looked like some kind of bleached dandelion. I threw myself on the bed and passed out.

Lily's shirt was dry when I woke up, but that's about it. Her board shorts were next driest, so I put them on too, which felt a bit squelchy but at least not permeated with blood anymore. As I was doing this, I saw my reflection out of the corner of my eye, and did a double-take. My hair had grown back to sleek shoulder length. "Grrrrr." I gasped, and lunged for the knife. I was determined to have control over some part of my life, even if it was just my bloody hair. I didn't want to be some slimy seductive undead, I wanted to be me, and somehow this made me feel more _me_.

Feeling a little self-conscious about my appearance, I jogged over to the gas depot. The chain link gate was unlocked, and when I slipped past it into the depot, it was like slipping into another world: post apocalyptic with rusting metal and tough grass pushing through all the cracks. Tung's oil tank home reinforced the illusion. He'd just taken over an old oil tank and had installed a mattress, light and tv in it. I was starting to think that a lot of vampires seemed to be plain old bums.

I also needn't have worried about my new hairstyle. Bertram Tung was a Nosferatu, which meant he was ugly and monstrous with weird lumps on his head and skin that looked like it was in the last stages of leprosy. Same bright silvery eyes though; and definitely the most bitingly perceptive kindred I'd met yet.

"What, is LeCroix down to sending out his Hitler Youth now? You look a little young to be out so late, girlie."

I gritted my teeth. Why were vampires so bloody judgemental and condescending all the time? I opened my mouth to make some quip about obviously being old enough to fuck with, when a sudden thought struck me. How old was I? Why was I having such weird memory issues? I couldn't really remember much of being human, except for flashes. Bits and pieces, but nothing that really nailed me down in time or space. I must've looked a bit gormless thinking about all this, because Tung shuffled impatiently, and said, "Hellooo, anyone home? You a goddamn Malk or something?"

I shook my head and tried to look more attentive.

"Nice hair, by the way." He snickered, and then was suddenly all business. "You want a guide to that Sabbat warehouse or what?"

"Yes, but-"

"You ready to go?"

"Yes, but-"

"What, make it quick."

I gulped. "Are you going with me? Is it going to be all Sabbat vampires? How do I know where to set the explosive?"

He sighed, and rolled his eyes (why do I evoke that response so much?!). "Chicken, I ain't setting foot in that place. It'll be all humans most likely, and as for the astrolite, if LeCroix didn't tell you, then what makes you think he'd tell me. Now get moving."

Tung seemed very at home guiding me through the sewers. He became almost chatty, pointing out to me where each exit went to. It didn't take as long as I'd hoped, to get there.

"Aaand, this is where I leave you." He made a gesture towards a sewer exit that looked just like all the others, then turned to leave.

"Uh, ok, see you round." I said inanely, trying to mask how frightened I was.

He turned back and raised an eyebrow. "Doubt it." He snorted and ran off.

Well, there I was on the cusp of my test, the test I'd spent so infernally long getting to. Undoubtedly I was supposed to die here, taking some Sabbat with me. That way LeCroix could be all regretful about my loss without having me around as a constant source of embarrassment. I resolved not to live up to his expectations of failure.


	5. Mission Possible

The warehouse was in the railyards, and was uncomfortably well-lit. I'm a bad sneaker – too clumsy – but I knew I would have to try my best here. I came out of the sewers into a run down rail office. It was lit by a flickering orange light that I soon realised was an oil drum fire, a lone bum warming his hands on it. His form cast dark jumping shadows on the back wall. I navigated past all the crumbling plaster and mounds of sodden cardboard to sneak out behind him, emerging into the yard. It was a surreal landscape: packed tightly with railcars, so that it looked like ground level was way above my head, and I stood in a deep trench on the office siding. Moonlight and floodlight cast deep shadows so that details and forms were chancy, unstable things. I flicked the switch in my brain that turned on auspex, and scanned the area for any life (or unlife) glows.

Two guards standing together barred my way across the yard to the warehouse complex. Mercurio had given me some instructions about which building and where to put the astrolite, it was just hard to remember them clearly while I felt so panicky about doing this. Sneak or fight, sneak or fight? Sneaking past two guys was harder than one. And they were smart and facing each other, giving them almost 360 vision.

I hid behind the end of a railcar and chewed my nails, trying to figure out what to do. Eventually I plucked up the courage to peek around the corner. As the guard facing me registered my presence, I slapped a domination trance on him. As his companion started to turn around, I gathered myself and leapt onto him. I was aiming for his back, so that I could break his neck, but since he was turning, I ended up bouncing off his shoulder and we both went down in a heap. I was afraid he would start screaming but he tried to fight back with a silent intensity. He knew what I was. It made me feel really awful to press my hand on his jaw until his neck snapped, but it was too late to try to reason with him, if indeed he ever would have listened to reason at all.

With him dead, I should have fed off his tranced companion, but I just couldn't do it, so I tranced him again for good measure and then snuck through the railcar lanes until I reached the warehouse area. There were two loading docks: one had about 8 life glows. The other was filled with a railcar overseen by one Sabbat human, who seemed to be fiddling with an electrical box. Next to him was a ladder which went up what looked like a crawlspace joining the building. From what I could remember, this would lead to an office in the centre: an ideal place to set the explosive. I started to edge towards the ladder, hoping that I could get past the lone guard without him spotting me. At that moment, a cacophony of yells and screams echoed from behind me. The guy I'd tranced had woken up and found his buddy. I groaned inwardly: I was so stupid, why hadn't I just killed him?

The guard blocking my way to the ladder was now freaked out and frosty, looking from side to side. As his gaze swung round to where I lurked in the shadows, I leapt on him. Clinging to his chest like a big pale bat, I sunk my fangs into the artery just above where it met his collar bone. I drained him dry before he had a chance to scream, dropped him to the floor and scooted up the ladder as fast as I could. No time for remorse: I had to get the astrolite placed before every man in the building was looking specifically for me. Below me I could hear shouts and the occasional wild shot as someone lost their nerve and fired at shadows. I emerged from the crawlspace high up and very dusty. It had led out to a pipe system running over the main warehouse space. Underneath the pipes was a grill walkway surrounding the office; it had a door at each end. There were a lot of men: on the ground floor and inside the office. They were all armed, looking wary and ready for trouble. Strong harsh lights lit every corner: sneaking was going to be impossible. I felt my heart sink.

When I look back, I'm amazed at what I did next. It wasn't courage that made me do it, but pure desperation. Basically, I dropped onto the walkway by the main door, burst through it (very thankful it wasn't locked) and started killing people. Two guys in the first room: I tranced one and went for the other. He had a gun: I was fast, and my knife cut his throat, but he shot me once in the arm. It hurt, a lot, but I could still fight with it, which was almost more of a shock. Blood from this throat sprayed across my face as he staggered back. No time to take that in, awful as it was. I was moving again, dashing through the next door to the central office. I only realised I'd left a stunned one behind me again as I careened into three more men. I whirled and stabbed, feeling so disconnected from my body: two were down but the third had emptied another two bullets into me. The more I was hurt, the more my body seemed to go onto autopilot, doing a much better job than if I'd been in control. I drained the shooter, and felt a bullet in my shoulder pop out as my undead body expelled it.

Like any pro spy, I had the astrolite taped to my torso (Mercurio suggested this). I hauled it out and set the simple timer: shoving it in the middle drawer of a filing cabinet. Time to get the hell out of there: the timer was set for 10 minutes. Keep moving before you collapse. I turned, stepping through the gore-drenched carpet. There were men coming up the stairs, blocking my exit, but noone had dared to come in yet. Without any clear plan, I grabbed an office chair and used it to smash the nearest window leading to the walkway. I pushed it back and forth to clear out the shards and then hopped through it.

Now I was the only person on the walkway, and I could see the stair welcoming committee clearer. They could also see me. As guns were swivelled in my direction I jumped onto the railing and over the side. It was a long way down, and my leg twisted under me on landing, but my vampire body just kept on going. Fear launched me into running mode again. There was a Sabbat vampire on the stairs: one of the clawed looking ones, but his life glow was quite a bit stronger. He was pushing his underlings right and left to get to me as I sprinted past and through the door. Without looking back, I kept running, weaving through the railcar lanes. I was starting to feel that I'd actually pulled it off, exultancy buoying me up, when an unkempt shadow detached itself from the mass and stood in front of me.

Another vampire, square in my way. He was a clawed one too: I wondered why the Sabbat seemed to have so many of them. He lunged at me. I yelped as his claws brushed the air in front of me, and suddenly my body covered itself with a glistening coat of blood, forming a full body shield. His next strike gathered droplets from my shield, but didn't touch me. Unsure if I was going to come up with any more surprises, I launched a couple of blood arrows at him and then followed up with blood purge, forcing him to vomit blood even while I hacked at him with my knife. The next instant he was falling apart into glowing sparks while I shivered with the need for blood (disciplines burn quite a bit). I gathered myself, blood shield fading from me, and ran raggedly to the original rail office I'd emerged to. As if on cue, I heard the boom of the explosion in the distance, and saw a fireball tower above the railcars. The shock sent them all shaking, and I was deafened by the sound of clanging metal.

As I stood there a streak of white zipped towards me. Its form cleared into that of a large white wolf. By this time it was almost on me: I had no time to think about defending myself before it reared on its hind legs and became a man, or rather, a vampire. I dropped into combat stance, a leaden feeling filling my stomach: from his life glow he looked a lot stronger than me.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, young one." He said, bowing from the waist. Sagging with relief since it seemed like he was friendly, I looked him over more thoroughly.

He had dark shoulder length hair that was a little shaggy, and wore a long worn trench coat, with non-descript clothing and boots; all of it the same dark earth tone of brown. His skin was pale and waxy looking, and although he wore smoked glasses with old fashioned wire frames, I could see the red glint of his eyes behind them.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Beckett. I am ah, sort of an unofficial historian for our community. So sorry if my arrival unnerved you." His manner was very courtly and restrained, but I could feel the power rolling off him in waves. This was someone who had been around awhile (how many hundreds of years, my mind gibbered).

"Um, hello." I stammered, not sure why he'd turned up here and now, right after my Sabbat sabotage.

As if reading my mind he answered, "My arrival here so unforseen to your….mission, is purely coincidental, I assure you. I am pursuing my own tasks, which brings me to this question. Have you by chance seen anything strange since your entrance into our world?"

I choked back a semi-hysterical snort. Anything strange?! Had I seen anything normal, more like. But the way he said it made me think of E and Lily for some reason.

"I know some thin-bloods. They've been told they're a sign of messed up times, but no one's ever told them why."

"Indeed?" Beckett pushed his glasses further onto his face with a very scholarly gesture. "I find thin-bloods to be such a fascinating conundrum. Sired like any of us, yet they are a weaker, more human version of kindred, mostly unable to feed as we do. Supposedly their presence is connected to the coming of Gehenna. Where did you see these individuals?"

I eyed him warily. "Are you going to hurt them? Lots of vampires want to hurt them."

He chuckled grimly, "Ah yes, so many of our brethren are subject to superstitious fears. No, I wish merely to interview them: find out the factors involved in their embrace, and ah, subsequent problems."

"They're on the beach by the pier." I said, hoping I wasn't betraying their trust. Beckett seemed capable of killing them all without even breaking a sweat. I opened my mouth to ask for more reassurance of their safety, but he stopped me with a gesture of his hand. He tilted his head, as if listening to something beyond my range of hearing.

"Hmm, I think it might be best if we continue this conversation at a later time." He said. "It sounds as if the Sabbat have started their hunt for the perpetrator of that explosion." He motioned towards the sewer grate, and I pulled the cover off and crawled in. I was expecting him to follow me, but I heard his voice above, fading into the distance.

"Maybe we will see each other again. And maybe not. But thank you for the information…"

I pulled the cover back on the sewer tunnel and sighed. Beckett seemed quite interesting, and I really wanted to know more about the history of vampires, but right now I felt dead tired, and wished I was already home in bed. I was also very hungry for blood, completely out of blood packs, and low on cash, which meant I was going to have to stalk for my supper. I glanced at my reflection in the dark waters of the sewer as I padded along: even distorted I could tell that I looked a wreck. I was covered in dust and blood, with my hair sticking up all over the place and one sleeve of Lily's t-shirt hanging torn. I sighed deeper, who was even going to let me get close to them looking like this?

Fortunately I emerged in a little alleyway near the Asylum to find it was occupied by a drunk clubber relieving himself. I crept up behind him and launched myself at his back. His drunken blood fizzed within me as I fed, lending an air of euphoria to the world. I left him leaning against the wall, and ran to Mercurio's as quickly as I could.

"I'm done!" I yelled excitedly when I entered his apartment. He looked at me as if I was some kind of crazy person.

"Next time try not ta get caught in the cross-fire, kid."

I headed for his bathroom. "Do I really look that bad?" Standing in front of the mirror, I winced at my reflection. "Wow, yes I do." I started to wash my hands and face in the sink, but Mercurio's voice came indistinctly from the other room.

"What?" I asked, turning the taps off.

"Y' really gotta go tell the boss." He was saying. "Don't pay to keep him waiting around."

That same feeling of despondency settled over me again. I came out of the bathroom and made for his front door. I wasn't really in a hurry to meet LeCroix again, even if it did mean getting out of Santa Monica. "I'll go see him tomorrow night," I assured Mercurio. "It's nearly light out, I need some sleep first. See you later."

My mood lightened a bit when I reached my apartment. I can see why vampires call wherever they're staying their 'haven': I felt much more relaxed, almost secure even, when I was inside it. Plus, the fact that I could actually shower seemed like heaven right at that moment. I washed the grime and blood from my hair and body and, curling up in bed with the tv on, sighed with contentment. I'd passed my first real test, and although there was sure to be more to come, that day I was going to sleep the sleep of champions. As I fell asleep I thought muzzily about my strange meeting with Beckett. Yawning, I resolved to go and see if E and Lily were ok, and give Lily back her bag.


	6. Meeting People

I was too lazy to chop my hair when I woke up at sunset. I pulled on the black top and capris I'd been embraced in (they were finally dry!) and emailed LeCroix to tell him I would be showing up later that night. Almost instantly, he replied, telling me that a taxi would be waiting outside the Asylum to take me downtown. Not sure if I would be coming back to Santa Monica, I grabbed Lily's bag (I had to throw her t-shirt away), the laptop, and my ipod and headed out.

It was a warm night with no clouds, just the now-waning moon. There seemed to be lots of people about, all their lovely warm life-glows making me feel like I was walking through a garden of rich fruit, ripe for the plucking. An awful way to think about other sentient beings, but I was hungry. I was almost at the parking garage leading to the beach, and still thinking about how to feed when a man approaching middle-age hailed me from a car. He beckoned me over, smiling in what I'm sure he thought was an ingratiating fashion.

"Hey kid, looks like you hit some hard times. Feel like making a few bucks?" The smile became a leer; he smoothed his comb-over and opened the passenger seat door invitingly.

My first reaction was to kick the door shut on his hand and maybe deprive him of a more personal limb, but I decided to kill two birds with one stone: have breakfast, and give him what he deserved. Although I must admit, the fact that even some scuzzball trying to pick up a hooker viewed me as a destitute runaway, rankled.

Nevertheless, I got in the car and allowed him to paw me a bit while he drove into the furthest, darkest corner of the parking garage. The sensation of his sweaty hand stroking my hair made me want to vomit, but I tried to coo sensually as I drew his very willing body towards me. As my fangs entered his neck and he slipped into a faint from loss of blood, it took all my self control not to drain him completely, and call that justice. I reined back at the last moment, and contented myself with taking his wallet. Rifling through the car's front seat, I pocketed a gun and ammo as well. I walked away towards the beach, counting out his money. It added up to a couple of hundred bucks, the majority of which I was sure I would never seen if I had indeed been a desperate street-kid.

I really liked the thin-blood's beach. It was very peaceful down there with just the soft sound of the waves, and the smell of salt air blowing in off the ocean. The moonlight sparkled faintly, outdone by the pier light reflections.

E and Lily were sitting apart from the others: his arm around her as they watched the gentle swell of the water. I sat down beside them.

E eyed me, "You look a lot better than last time, hey."

I grinned wolfishly. "Not according to some, dude. How are you two doing? Did some weird vamp in a trench coat come by yet?"

Lily nodded. "He explained about thin-bloods better than my sire did. I don't think me and E will ever be able to cut it as vampires. My folks have a house in the middle of nowhere, up the coast. We're going to go there and hide out, see how it goes." She shrugged.

"What are you doing now? What did you do with all that explosive?" asked E, curiously.

I echoed Lily's shrug. "I dunno. I have to go talk to this bigwig downtown, and tell him I blew up this warehouse he wanted me to," here E and Lily both stared at me in astonishment, "after that, I have no clue. Oh yeah, wait: I have to go see this other bigwig about my 'clan'; find a guy named Jack, and find another guy whose name I don't know, so I can thank him for saving my life, or uh, unlife. Whatever…" I had been counting on my fingers as I recited and now stopped as E put his head in his hands and shook it. "What?" I asked.

"Being a real vampire sounds way too complicated," explained Lily, "Maybe we got the better deal after all."

We chatted a bit more about non-vampire things, and when I left, I slipped Lily the money I'd stolen from 'breakfast', and gave her back her bag of belongings. As I got to my feet and trudged away through the sand, the eastern European woman came towards me. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or herself: none of her ravings made sense.

"Sorry, what are you trying to say?" I said.

"Stay away from ze sugar! Stay away vrom him! Can you trust ze numbers or ze smiles? I don't know: I don't know vot I am sayink!" Her accent got progressively thicker as she babbled.

"Ok," I nodded and smiled placatingly, "I'll do that."

She looked down at me with haunted eyes; tall and dark, a modern-day Cassandra. "You do not understand," she shook her head sadly; "I cannot make you understand."

I patted her on the shoulder, "It's ok, don't worry about it. It'll all work out."

She shook her head again, and wandered back to the fire, dejected.

Putting her confusing conversation out of my head, I trotted back to the Asylum. As promised, a taxi waited there for me. The driver was a ghoul, but as creepy and mysterious as any vampire. With one last look around the busy street of Santa Monica, I edged into the back seat, clutching the laptop. Apart from my ipod, some weapons, and the clothes I sat in, I had nothing else to take with me. Even my toiletries and towel had come with the haven, so I left them behind.

It took a bit to get to downtown LA, or at least the area of downtown that LeCroix inhabited. I watched out of the window as buildings gave way to skyscrapers and the roads got busier. There seemed less people on the streets though: I guessed that not many people wanted to walk around at night. To my surprise, the cabbie stopped us in what didn't look like a great part of town: decrepit buildings with dark windows overseeing a vacant lot. It wasn't a main street, and there were no other cars on it.

"This is your stop." The driver seemed impatient for me to be gone, but I was hesitant to get out here.

"Are you sure?" I asked uneasily.

"'Course I'm sure! Get outta here."

I was a little shocked at his attitude, but not knowing what else to do, I got out and stood on the pavement, looking around. Immediately the cab began to pull away. I watched it go, feeling not a little abandoned. As it turned the corner and sped away, I heard a low growling chuckle behind me. Intense pain flared at the back of my head, and all the lights went out.

Waking up was painful. My head hurt so that it was hard to focus, and my limbs felt restrained by heavy weights. A figure loomed over me, silhouetted by the street light. With a flash, the situation clicked into place, and I realised I was being held down by two men - no, vampires, my inner senses corrected – while a third kicked me in the ribs with his boot. Instantly, my every sense was alert with fright. Who these men were, I could guess: Sabbat flunkies who'd managed to track me down. What they intended to do with me, I could also guess: unpleasant, painful and probably fatal. I struggled, but they were all stronger than me.

"Looks like we got us some entertainment for the night, boys." Said the one looming over me. They all looked slightly feral; he was dark, while the other two were pale.

I opened my mouth to plead ignominiously for my life, but the dark one kicked me again, and it just came out as a gasp.

"Camarilla bitch! We're going to rip you to shreds for fucking with us!" One of the pale ones spat in my face, digging his claws into my arm. I cried out in pain and fear.

"But first," said the dark one, "first we're going to have some fun." He ground his heel into my pubic bone to make his point. Feeling panic begin to overwhelm me, I made a desperate attempt to struggle free, ripping the flesh of my arms where my captors held me. It was no good, I wasn't strong enough. The one who'd called me a bitch cackled with laughter, and lapped the blood from my oozing cuts, worrying them with his teeth. It was agony, and I screamed. I received a kick to the head, and heard a whistling whine, a thump and then a "Motherfucker!" cursed above me. The claws released me and all three faced away from me towards something I couldn't see. Shaking, I dragged myself back away from them, and heard a calm voice.

"Leave. Now." The voice was vaguely familiar: a dark voice, serious and charismatic.

"Since when do Anarchs look out for fucking Camarilla?" shouted my dark captor. "You fucking leave, Rodriguez. You should be thanking us for getting rid of this little bitch for you."

"Yeah, and there's three of us, and only one o' you." Observed one of the pale guys (they were identical).

"That gun ain't going to help you much." Said the other.

Something happened out of my line of vision, because suddenly the three of them were backing up, almost tripping over me. They scattered and ran, the dark Sabbat stopping only to point at the shadowed figure ahead of me.

"This won't be forgotten." He said menacingly. In answer, a bullet clipped his head. He yowled, then turned and ran.

Still shaking, I tried to raise myself to my feet, but my legs and arms seemed made out of putty. So I waited there, huddled on the pavement, while Rodriguez walked up to me. As he got closer, I realised it was the guy who'd spoken out to save my life in the movie theatre. He looked vaguely Hispanic, with copper-brown skin, short dark hair and one of those moustache/goatee combos. His eyes were preternaturally bright: ice-blue, glinting to silver. He was dressed in dark shoes and curiously out of date slacks (almost a 40's cut) with a simple white sleeveless t-shirt under a dark blue bowling shirt. The amount of bling he wore seemed a lot more than fit with his restrained dress: multiple rings on each hand; chunky silver and turquoise wristbands; strings of gold and a pendant around his neck. Tall and loose-limbed, he moved with easy grace, exuding confidence.

When he reached me, he stopped and shook his head, laughing quietly to himself.

"Trouble sure likes you, kid." He commented, and reached out a hand to help me to my feet. I grabbed his forearm, feeling the coolness of the metal against my skin, and allowed myself to be hauled upwards. As he did so, I noticed the gun at his hip, and the grenade belted to his other hip. No wonder the Sabbat had run.

I was swaying so much he had to hold me by the elbows to keep me upright. He looked me up and down questioningly.

"Name's Nines. Kid, you look like shit: you gonna make it out of here ok?"

I nodded, trying to pull myself together. "Thanks," I stammered, "Again."

He chuckled grimly. "Right time, right place. You got lucky newbie: should've been more careful. Where you headed?"

I gulped. "I have to report to LeCroix. But I don't know where he is from here: I think the cab driver took me to the wrong place." And I feel like I'm about to throw up, I added mentally.

Nines Rodriguez frowned and looked around him at the abandoned houses and vacant lots. "Sounds like you walked into a trap. Listen up, I don't know what you've been told, but after you square things with LeCroix, come pay me a visit at the Last Round tonight. I'll fill you in on what's really going on round here." He reached out a hand again to steady me. "Just keep on to the end of this street and turn right. Follow the towers until you see one with a big fucking 'Venture' sign on it. Le Prince's idea of a joke."

I nodded again, still feeling a little stunned by the whole experience.

"This is a mean existence: stay out of trouble kid." He cautioned.

He didn't seem about to leave until I did, so I started to walk down the street. I sort of expected him to accompany me, but he stood and watched until I made it to the corner. I turned back to wave goodbye, but he had vanished.

It was only after I'd been walking for some time, and the mist in my brain started to clear, that I remembered Jack had also told me to find him at the Last Round. By this time I was surrounded by office skyscrapers, and the neighbourhood looked a lot less dicey. There still weren't a lot of people other than bums on the streets, but there were some club-goers around, and the area was well-lit. I paused briefly in front of a New Gothic church, converted to a club. All its windows were red, and the light shining out of them was bright crimson. I thought it very beautiful and ethereal, even with the pumping bass and the little knots of laughing people. I envied them their normal little lives; acutely aware of my various scrapes and bruises, my torn and bloodied clothes. My body hurt, and I felt very alone. I'd been feeling almost cocky about my survival skills after the warehouse caper, but my run-in with those three Sabbat had shaken that confidence and shown me exactly how vulnerable I was.

"Psst! Over here baby-girl!"

Next to the club was a small parking lot, leading into a dark alleyway. There was a white unmarked van parked at one side, and a very large African-American guy leaning against it. He reminded me a little of Ice-Cube, if he'd put on about 150 pounds and grown a huge afro. He beckoned me over, arm jingling with lots of gold chains.

"Ahhuh, baby-girl! I saw your fine self walking down the street and I just knew we could do each other some good. Lemme introduce myself: Ahm Fat Larry with an F A T, cos there's more of me to love!"

Inside I felt like saying 'are you for real?', but it was easier to be polite.

"Hi there," I said. Looking past him I could see shadows of piled objects inside the van. "And what kind of good would that be?"

"Well," he leaned forward conspiratorally, his yellow basketball jersey billowing. "You look like you bin doing some serious mad dog shit. I got what you need to take them motherfuckers out quick next time."

I looked down at myself. Not again! It seemed like the hardest part of keeping the Masquerade was stopping yourself getting ripped up and bloody. My clothes were a wreck, again, and dried blood was visible through the rips in my sleeves.

Reflexively I put my hand in my pocket to feel for my money. It wasn't there. That was when I realised the Sabbat had also robbed me. I had no money, no ipod, and worse, no Le Croix laptop.

"Argh, they robbed me!" I wailed, half to myself.

Fat Larry gave me a commiserating look. Then his eyes narrowed calculatingly.

"Girl, I think I can do us both a favour. How'd you like to make some money and help ole Larry out?"

I eyed him warily, thinking of the slimy guy who'd picked me up. No, that's absurd, I thought, I am most definitely not attractive right now, he must mean something to do with fighting.

"What?" I said bluntly.

"Yo, I need a hardcore, pimp-killing Cleopatra Jones for a serious score. But you gotta be straight up Foxy Brown style: still with me? Uhuh, I know you are, girl: you little, but you look like you some kinda tiny-assed freaking killa!"

I sighed. More fighting: I hated fighting. But I was now destitute, and probably owed Le Croix money for the laptop. This reminded me I still had to go and meet him.

"Maybe," I told him non-committally, "but I have to go see someone first. Can I come back and get the details from you later?"

Larry tilted his head to one side and considered. "Uhuh, sure thing, baby-girl. Ah'll be right here waiting."


	7. Talky Talky

As I turned to leave he stopped me. "Baby, I's going to give you an incentive an' advance payment, like. That shirt aint no good to be talking to anyone in. Lemme gi' you a new one." He started rooting around in the van, and eventually brought out a t-shirt, which he handed to me with a beaming 33-carat smile.

"Here y'go. Y' can change in the alley-way, Ah swear I won't peek."

"Thanks." I said, hiding my trepidation. The t-shirt was bubblegum pink with a gold transfer of the Playboy bunny across the chest. It was truly hideous, but I reasoned it was better if people laughed at me rather than saw me as connected to violence. I switched shirts around the corner of the alleyway, throwing my shredded black top away, before waving goodbye to Larry and continuing on my way.

It didn't take long from there before I saw the gleaming glass tower with the Venture sign at its peak. It seemed a bit odd that the double doors were unlocked at this time of night but there was a security guard at the front desk. Not that he looked like he would do much good if something happened: he was middle-aged and chubby, looking almost as doughy as the cruellers in front of him.

"Hi there missy, what can I do for you?" he warbled happily as I approached the desk.

"I need to see Sebastien LeCroix," I replied, "He's expecting me."

The security guard looked a little doubtful, and I really couldn't blame him. At least my hair wasn't chopped but it was still dusty and tangled, matted at the back with blood where I'd been hit in the head. I was wearing an extremely skanky t-shirt and dusty black trousers. My cuts and bruises were already mostly healed, but there must still have been some evidence of them.

"If I could just get your name..?" the guard prompted. He was starting to look more and more uncomfortable.

Unfortunately this question really threw me for a loop. Somehow I hadn't really thought about it before: everyone had been calling me 'kid', 'fledgling', or 'bitch' up until that point. But now I was confronted by the fact that I could not for the life of me remember my own fucking name!

I stood there dumbstruck while the pudgy guard fiddled with a donut and looked at me anxiously. He was obviously worried he would be forced to deal with some cracked out crazy. I shook my head, trying to get inspiration. Ah.

"Just tell him it's the Kid from Santa Monica. He'll know: sorry, can't tell you more, it's really hush hush." I babbled, trying to give the impression of confident secrecy. I don't think I pulled it off very well, but the guard did phone up to LeCroix, and it did seem to work, because the worried look faded out of his eyes. He smiled at me, pudgy cheeks wobbling, and indicated a very fancy corridor of elevators behind me.

"Penthouse level: just push the button, I unlocked it for you."

LeCroix seemed to go in a lot for marble and steel interiors, quite Art Deco. I nodded thanks to the guard, and trotted into the first open elevator. More glass, marble and steel. I could see my quavering reflection as I pushed the button to LeCroix's suite. While the elevator hummed quietly in motion, I went back to my internal search for my name. How could I not remember something like that? Was this normal for new vampires?

I still had no answer when the elevator released me and I entered LeCroix's very opulent suite. It featured gilded mouldings, large 18th century oil paintings on the walls, and red velvet hangings. The carpet was huge and reminiscent of something from Versailles. LeCroix sat at a mahogany desk in front of the window, tapping away on his laptop, while his huge underling stood impassively beside him. I gulped, remembering that machete-like sword hovering above me.

LeCroix looked up only when I reached the desk, disdain etched in his face. When we'd met before, I'd been too dazed and fearful to really get a good impression of him, but now I did my best to burn every aspect of his presence into my mind, knowing that my future survival could well depend on how I interacted with him.

He was beautiful, in that casual way that so many of the world's elite are: perfectly cut blonde hair (a honey blonde – darker and warmer than mine); regular, tanned and well-defined features with aristocratically jutting cheekbones and finely-moulded lips. But his eyes showed not the smug, slightly vacant gaze of the happily rich. They were very bright and piercing; the eyes of someone used to calculating control finely. Under that stare I knew that he would never see me as a person, but only as an object, a pawn to be used to further his own agenda. It took all my self-control not to turn and run out of the room, and keep on running.

"Ah, I was informed of your presence in the building. Now, give me your report regarding the warehouse: am I to conclude you were successful?" His voice was lighter than I remembered, with the faintest touch of an indefinable accent.

I nodded. Already I could hear the control flowing out of his voice (I recognised the scent of Domination), working on me. Obey, obey, it whispered.

"Excellent. I am gratified to know that my expectations of you are fulfilled. If you will turn in your laptop to the Sherriff, we will make new arrangements regarding your future employment in this organization." He waved a languid hand towards the huge underling.

Ah. The moment I'd been dreading. I gritted my teeth and attempted to explain. "I'm really sorry but I don't have it. You see, I got mugged by these Sabbat-"

LeCroix stopped me with a hand gesture. "Am I to understand you no longer have my property?"

"No, but I got mugged!" I responded desperately.

He waved away my explanation. "Never mind. While I am willing to be lenient, given that you are so new to our society," it's hard for someone to look down their nose at you when you're standing and they're sitting, but he managed it, "I do expect more competency from my…servants." here his voice took on the coiled quality of a lash, "Therefore, you will continue to work for me, gratis, until you have paid off your debt. Is this clear?"

"What?! Look, I'll pay you back as soon as I can, but I'm not doing any more crazy stuff like that again. I'm no good at it, sorry." It took all my will to protest while waves of domination rolled off him. I couldn't tell if it was something he was exerting or just part of his natural aura.

"In that case we shall be sure to assign only the simplest of duties to you." His smile was sharp as a razor. He snapped his fingers in the direction of the Sherriff, who pulled a cell phone from his coat and tossed it to me. I fumbled on catching it, but at least I didn't drop it.

"How long before I'm paid off?" I asked dully, accepting the inevitable.

"That will depend on many factors. I will use the phone to contact you with further information. Don't lose it." He motioned for me to leave. "You are dismissed."

Feeling pretty hopeless about the whole situation, I walked out.

Once outside again on the street, I tried to think about things. I was still LeCroix's 'servant', working for free for the foreseeable future. Not good. I thought about Jack and Rodriguez in the Last Round. They had both seemed a lot friendlier; maybe I could get some help from them on how to get away from LeCroix. Suddenly I remembered the invitation from the Tremere regent. Maybe now that I was more experienced as a vampire, my clan would take me in?

Realisation that I was really really hungry started to intrude. I spotted a man standing at a bus stop. I was so famished it was hard not to just charge and jump on him, but I made myself walk over nonchalantly.

"I need your help." I said, using domination. It seemed very mean: now that I'd been on the receiving end, I knew how horrible it was to be controlled in this way. I was just so hungry. I took his hand; he didn't resist as I drew him into the nearest alleyway. His blood made me feel a lot better. I didn't feel right about leaving him tranced in the alley, so I propelled him back to the bus stop.

Now the world seemed a little brighter, with more hope in it. Somehow I would break free of LeCroix. I had options, even if some of them were only running away.

My invitation to the Tremere 'chantry' (clanhouse) was cryptic to say the least: something about looking for 'a sun'. I decided I had a better chance of finding the Last Round quickly. I dodged into a 24 hour corner store to ask for directions. The rather scared looking clerk was ensconced in a bullet-proof glass cubicle.

"I'm looking for a bar called the Last Round: do you know it?" I asked.

"Follow this street. Left, right, left, and it's near the overpass. Pretty shitty 'hood. Lots o' winos." He fidgeted with something behind the counter: probably a weapon.

I thanked him and started to follow his directions. The further I went from the Venture Tower, the worse my surroundings started to look again. Well-lit car parks and brownstone type buildings were more and more interspersed with abandoned structures. The people on the streets were fewer and more suspicious, and a lot of them seemed to be carrying weapons. I saw a guy spraying graffiti get chased away by another guy wielding a knife, which made me stop stock still with fear, until I realised that as a vampire, I really had nothing to be afraid of from him.

Feeling a little conspicuous as the only female on the street under 55 (there weren't even any prostitutes), I quickened my pace, glancing at each building to make sure it wasn't the Last Round in hiding.

Eventually I came to it, the last but one building before the overpass. A knot of homeless gathered around an oil drum fire under the sweep of concrete a little way off. The Last Round itself was pretty non-descript, a flat roofed two storey building with a huge billboard advertising a Caribbean getaway on top. Angry sounding music wafted from the inside.

Now that I was finally here, I felt a bit shy, not knowing what kind of a welcome I was going to get. Gingerly I pushed the door open and went inside.

It was loud in there, so loud it hurt my enhanced hearing. A long dark narrow kind of place, it had a bar on one side and booths on the other. There were peeling band posters on the walls, and the leather on the booth seats was cracked and faded. It looked pretty run down, but had the kind of clientele that looked like they spent most of their nights there anyway. They were all vampires, mostly male, in dress ranging from punk to metal head to truck driver chic. My entrance provoked a barrage of stares and whispered comments, none of them particularly friendly. I steeled myself to ignore them and strode further into the bar, looking around for either of the people I knew.

It was lucky the bar wasn't too crowded. No one would move aside for me, but I ducked around them with eyes averted, praying that this helped avoid confrontation. It was a bit of an eye opener on my situation to realise that a lot of random strange vampires seemed to know about me. I heard the phrase 'Camarilla bitch' repeatedly in snatches of conversation. Then over the pounding bass and screaming guitars of the music I heard a voice yelling.

"Yo! Over here!"

Rarely had I been so happy to see a familiar face. Jack was lounging against the back wall in a corner by himself, hauling on a cigar. He waved me over, and immediately the crowd melted away to let me through. Wreathed in smoke, with his face lit from beneath by the cigar, he looked almost demonic. I saw the glint of his eyes under dark brows as he scanned the room behind me.

"Good to see you made it back in one piece," he said, clapping me on the shoulder, "how'd y'like old Santa Monica then, kiddo?" his sarcastic laugh made me think he knew exactly what I'd had to deal with there.

"It sucked: I hate vampires." I told him. This sent him into a howl of laughter. Mockingly he wiped non-existent tears from his eyes and handed me a pint glass half full of red liquid.

"Let's drink to that." He winked. I sniffed the glass. As I'd suspected, it was blood.

"I hear you and Nines had a little run in with the Sabbat," he puffed on the cigar and blew the smoke in my face while I was drinking, "and let 'em go. Tut tut. Nines must be getting soft."

I coughed and put the glass down. "He saved my life, twice now. I don't understand why, but dude's ok by me." I finished defensively.

Jack's glance towards me was thoughtful and sly at the same time. "I bet." he mused. "Well, he was left sireless too, long time ago now. Maybe that's all. Meh, he's got a thing for the little guy." He shrugged. "You all done with LeCroix?"

I sagged, remembering my disastrous interview. "No, now I'm some kind of serf because I lost his bloody laptop. Do you think if I just left town he would forget about me?"

Jack shook his head. "Better'n final death, but when Nines stood up to LeCroix over you, you became a living symbol of the prince's inability to rule. I bet he was pretty fucking surprised you made it out of Santa Monica. Word of advice, kid: don't trust that Ventrue fuck."

"I don't!" I wailed, "but I don't know how to get him to leave me alone."

Jack leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, you made a good start heading here. Things aint looking so hot for the Anarchs right now: lost a lot o' good people over the war with the Kue-jin. But some here'll help you just to piss his fucking Highness off. Be patient, keep a low profile, learn the lay of the land."

"Ok. I'll try."

He leaned back against the wall and blew more smoke in my face. "Nines is upstairs. He's expecting you, so don't be letting miss high-and-mighty student activist blow you off."

I found a lot of his conversation pretty confusing: vampires seemed to have a tendency to assume you knew all the names and factions in every political intrigue. However, it was good to hear that Jack was still in my corner. I gave him a mock salute and started up the stairs, trying to prepare what to say to Rodriguez (something along the lines of thank you, thank you, thank you: please can you help me again?).


	8. Social Networking

I felt very nervous. Talking to Jack had made me realise exactly how much of a pawn I was, and I couldn't help wondering what Nines Rodriguez' motivations were, in saving my life. As a total stranger to him, it seemed to make more sense that he was keeping me alive just to make LeCroix angry, but maybe, as Jack had implied, he was one of those people always looking for someone – anyone - to save.

I was deep in depressed thought as I entered the upstairs lounge, and didn't even notice the girl in the doorway yelling at me until she barred my way with her arm.

"Hey, where'd y'think you're going?! Sabbat chase you in here, Cammy?"

I was confronted by a female vampire who looked in her early 20's: taller than me and very red. She had a shoulder-length red bob, very red lipstick against her pale skin, and wore a white t-shirt with some kind of red and orange Communist-style propaganda icon on it. Her eyes were smoky with makeup, framing pale green irises. She wore cut-off combat pants with red Converse and an olive beret with a red enamel star in the front. Her expression and tone of voice were angry, and she allowed her fang teeth to protrude over her lower lip.

"Nines Rodriguez is expecting me." I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. This woman looked more than capable of beating me up. She looked me up and down disbelievingly, becoming visibly angrier when she saw the Playboy bunny t-shirt.

"Uh uh." She shook her head. "I don't think he's interested in talking to some little Cammy skank."

I glanced past the barrier of her arm. The upstairs lounge was more open concept, and was dominated by a large table heaped with used ashtrays, open cans and half-empty glasses. A space had been cleared for large pieces of paper, and I could see Rodriguez and a couple of other guys seated round the table, poring over what looked like a diagram.

In spite of my nervousness and desire not to provoke conflict, I started to get quite angry. "If you think you know I'm part of the Camarilla, then you'll also know I owe Rodriguez. He told me to meet him here, and I intend to." My last words were almost a hiss, spoken through gritted teeth.

The woman's eyes narrowed and she seemed about to launch into a tirade, but at that moment, Nines looked up from the papers and saw me. Immediately he pushed back his chair, nodded to his companions and strode towards us.

"Damsel, quit giving the newbies a hard time." He told her jokingly as he reached us. She removed her arm from my way, and he reached out, drawing me past her. "You showed up. Good." He said, sounding a little surprised. Damsel gave me a death look behind his back, and slouched back into her guard position, muttering angrily.

The two men who had been sitting with him were up and leaving, one catching my shoulder as he pushed past me. He was tall with a shaven head; skin the colour of dark chocolate. The vampiric brightness of his eyes as he glared back at me was very unsettling. A meaningful look passed from Rodriguez to him, and he averted his eyes from me.

"Don't mind Skelter," Nines indicated for me to sit down, and then followed suit, "him and the rest don't like anyone working for the Cam. They'll come around once you give LeCroix the heave-ho." He put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his interlocked hands, giving me an evaluating stare.

My heart sank. Tonight seemed to be the night for me to give all the important people in my existence bad news. I sighed and tried to explain. "I still have to work for him. When those Sabbat beat me up, they took this laptop he loaned me. Now I have to work for him 'til it's paid off. I don't think I have a choice."

Rodriguez snarled and shook his head in disgust. "Fucking typical Camarilla bullshit. Motherfucker is so rich he wouldn't even notice losing a laptop, but now he's got leverage on you, you can be goddamn sure he's gonna use it."

I opened my mouth to whine about how LeCroix had used domination on me, as well as the physical intimidation of his bully boy, but then I remembered why I was actually here.

"Thanks again for saving my life so much," I stammered, "you know, if there's anything I can do to pay you back, just say the word." Vampires don't blush, but I could've sworn I was flushing to the roots of my hair. I felt very tongue-tied around him. This was the first time I'd been in his presence without being in immediate danger of dying, and I was very conscious of his extremely male charisma. People throw the word machismo around in a denigrating way, but when you meet a man who has it for real, it can be pretty intense.

He frowned. "Best way you can help right now is to listen close, and when the time comes, get the fuck away from LeCroix and don't give that asshole the time of night. Here's what I got to tell you. And so you know, I don't lecture, I don't rap, I'm no bureaucrat. I'm just a guy out of nowhere stuck in something 500 times bigger than you or me…" with that he did launch into a bit of a lecture about the Camarilla being a pyramid scheme: their endless intrigues, mandatory membership, and strict laws. I listened politely, but felt like I already knew how terrible they were: after all, I was the unwilling slave here, not him. My mind wandered while he started talking about Elders (vampires older than a thousand years), and I mused over Jack's words. Possibly Nines wanted to help me because he'd once been in the same situation: sireless and at the mercy of some long gone Camarilla prince.

I must've looked a little day dreamy, because his voice turned sharp as it cut into my thoughts. "You better be listening, cos I don't repeat myself."

I snapped back to the present guiltily. "Sorry. I just find all this hard to take in: so the Camarilla are sort of vampire old money capitalists and the Anarchs are like anarchist revolutionaries?" He nodded. "But where do the Sabbat fit in?"

He shrugged wryly. "Original anarchs way back, but they fell to the Beast. Fucking fanatics: stay away from them, newbie."

Exasperated by all these politics and only half understanding what the hell he was saying, I rubbed my eyes wearily. "Look, bottom line: I don't want to be part of anyone's Game." It was hard to stop myself pleading, "Please, how do I break free from the prince? I just want to be free to go my own way." Now I was pleading for real, feeling a swell of desperation at the thought of having to do more tasks for someone I already feared and disliked. Overcome by despondency, I bowed my head until flanks of pale hair formed curtains around my face, shutting out the world.

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the music from downstairs. Eventually I heard Rodriguez sigh thoughtfully. "Kid, if times were different, I'd say come on over and tell LeCroix to go fuck himself, but," he paused, seemingly searching for the right way to say things, "we aint in a position to help you 'til you can help yourself. I might be able t' convince people to fight with you, but they sure as shit aint gonna fight _for_ you, understand?"

I balled my hands into fists, unable to look up. "Sure, I understand. It's all about fighting. I hate fighting," my thought struck me as funny all of a sudden, and I glanced up with the ghost of a grin, "probly cos I suck so bad at it."

He returned the grin. "After picking your ass up off the pavement back there, yeah, easy to see you don't know shit." Straightening up in his chair, he seemed to come to a decision. "But that's one thing we can do: teach you the basics. Newbie, you just signed up for some lessons in kicking ass."

Rodriguez looked up at the clock on the wall. "But not tonight. Come back tomorrow, round two."

I nodded and mumbled a thank you. This seemed to conclude our meeting, so I stood up and prepared to leave.

"And for fuck's sake, stay out of trouble. I've got my eye on you kid."

True to his word, I felt him watching me as I walked away. Damsel hissed at me as I passed, but I ignored her and walked down the stairs. Jack wasn't in sight, and I was still getting a bad vibe from the rest of the clientele, so I left as quietly as I could.

Once outside, I felt better: even a little hope is a marvellous thing. I was still alone and destitute, but at least I wasn't friendless. I started walking aimlessly, and then it struck me: I had no haven. No apartment, nowhere to hide from the sun.

So there I stood, at 4am in downtown LA, with nowhere to go and no money or possessions other than LeCroix's cel phone. I looked around listlessly, turning over my options in my mind. No money meant no hotel; hostels or shelters were out of the question since they would chuck me out for the day; and I didn't feel confident enough to break into any abandoned buildings right then – maybe when I knew the area a bit better. I weighed my choices as I walked without purpose. Finally I stopped beside an underground parking garage. I could hear the hiss of air vents going through it.

An idea formed in my mind, and I wandered more purposefully round the corner into an alley way where the vents met the surface. There were iron bars stopping off the vents, but by exerting a little more than regular strength I managed to twist them off. I crouched and peered into the vent. It seemed to go far into the depths of the parking garage, and it looked like it was wide enough for me to crawl through.

Looking around to check that no one was watching, I ducked into the vent and started to crawl along it. My shoes shuffling on the aluminium seemed very loud, and I could see chinks of light from the spaces underneath. The smell of petrol (gasoline for you North Americans) was overpowering. Before long, the vent started to dip and twist to the lower levels. I followed it down and then lay against its floor. Peeking close through the cracks in the segments I could see a car below me. There seemed to be no chinks to the outside world, which made this as good a place as any. I turned onto my back and curled myself into a ball, staring at the metal only a foot or so above me.

"Welcome to LA." I whispered to myself bitterly and closed my eyes.

I knew I was dreaming, but that didn't change anything. Rolling dark clouds streamed over me at impossible speeds, deep thunder booming around me. Lightning crackled, but its source was not the clouds. My eyes were drawn to the figure of the man on the hillside: a black silhouette surrounded by a corona of energy. He was far away, but zooming closer. With horror I realised that _I_ was approaching him. His eyes and mouth were caverns of sparking light, about to devour me.

"…You…" The deep reverberation of his voice followed me as the dream faded.

I jerked awake, kicking the side of the vent so that it echoed and shivered. Everything looked exactly the same, but I could tell that a day had passed. I felt very dusty and disoriented crawling back out of my hideout. Once outside I whacked some of the dust from my clothes and thought about breakfast. It occurred to me that I had a busy night ahead: back to do a deal with Larry; try to find the Tremere chantry; and fighting lessons with the leader of the Anarchs. And questions, I had a lot of questions for people. Everyone wanted to tell me about the politics, but I needed to know about more basic things like memory loss and dreams. Oh, and whether there was any way to survive as a vampire without having to constantly be fighting.

By this time I was headed in what I hoped was the direction of Larry, looking around for someone to drink (it didn't feel appropriate to consider Larry as a breakfast option).

Breakfast was a gangbanger sucking on a crack pipe in the alley leading to Larry's van. The drug made his blood a bit fizzy, and I felt slightly light-headed as I walked away, but it was better than nothing. Looking up at the narrow corridor of stairs between the buildings, I giggled and thought how much fun life as a vampire could be if there were no secret societies to deal with.

"Well, if it aint my very own Cleo-pat-ra Joones." Larry seemed to have eyes in the back of his head as I approached the van. I looked closer, noticing the advantageously positioned mirror. Smart man. Then I mentally flushed as I recalled changing shirts. Very smart.


	9. Ninja Styling or Not

Thanks to those who've commented. Any comments or critiques are most than welcome: hope people are enjoying this somewhat so far. A note on dialogue: some of it does come straight from the game (as I remember it), but most of it is mine.

* * *

"Hello again." I waved as I approached. "So what's going on?"

Fat Larry looked around and then leaned forward. "Baby-girl, yo, here's what's going down. Word is, Chinatown Tong and some local boys are doing a bidness deal at the bottom o' a parking garage tonight. Now, I don't know what they be exchanging, but let's just say a certain client o' mine is willing to put down some super-size green fo' it. You get it fo' me, I not only give you a cut, but Ah'll get you a discount on my special stock as well. You in?"

This was a little more than I'd bargained for. "How many men?" I asked suspiciously.

"Ohh, 20-25 max." said Larry airily.

I clapped my palm to my forehead in a gesture of disbelief. "Seriously. And what makes you think I can get past that many dudes?"

Larry's eyes narrowed and his grin was sinister. "Cos you got stone cold killa written all over you, baby."

This made me pause. Was he hinting that he knew I was a vampire? Or was he just trying to butter me up? I decided it didn't matter. Whether I wanted to pay LeCroix off quickly, or merely get a place to stay, I needed money, and lots of it. Maybe I could find a way to sneak around and not have to fight much.

"I'll do it." I declared firmly. "But only if I can get some weapons up-front. On credit."

I wasn't prepared for Larry's extreme response. He let out a cry and his face became almost apoplectic.

"Yo, baby-girl, why you gotta do me like that? I'z just tryin' ta make a living here." He sighed as I shook my head stubbornly. "Fine, you be dat way. What you need?"

I ended up with a sword which he assured me came straight from Japan, but looked a little shaky. Still, it gave me more reach that the knife I carried in Santa Monica, yet was small enough to mostly conceal on my back. It came with a special ninja-style strap sheath. I made sure I fitted it under my t-shirt out of sight of Larry's mirror, and then headed off.

The meet was supposed to be happening at midnight, still an hour away, but Larry told me they would already have guards there. When he'd first mentioned the whole thing, I'd wondered if he meant my hideout parkade, but this one was in the opposite direction, next to an abandoned movie theatre. With a shock I realised it was the movie theatre I'd watched my sire die in. It gave me a creepy feeling of having completed a circle. I'd first come there as prey, but now I returned as predator.

It's ok, I'll sneak through vents, I comforted myself. It seemed odd to be thinking that having to only kill a couple of guys was acceptable. Shrugging off my mood, I scoped out the outside of the parking garage. As I'd hoped, there was a ventilation system that led to the outside. I ripped off the metal grille over one and climbed in. It was a little smaller than my hideout one, so that I was shuffling along on my stomach using my elbows, rather than crawling. I would've felt very ninja-like if it hadn't been for the fact that I was wearing a stupid pink t-shirt and the hilt of my sword kept smacking off the ceiling of the vent. I felt like I was being hideously noisy, and kept stopping every 5 seconds to listen for any sign that I'd been discovered.

Soon I started to hear signs that the parking garage was occupied: low voices and the sounds of patrols. I squinted through a crack in the metal, trying to get a glimpse of someone, but all I could see was a car roof. Edging forward as quietly as I could, I started on the downward slope to the next level. Larry had said the briefcase I was after would be exchanging hands on the bottom level.

It seemed like it took ages to crawl down three levels of vents, especially since every time I heard someone walking close, I had to stop and check that they hadn't heard me. I was heartily sick of the vents by the time I reached my goal, and swore I wouldn't sleep in one again. But for the time being, I had run out of crawlspace, so I peeked against a crack again, and tried to see what was going on.

Just in my range of vision I could see a man's legs. He was wearing a suit and polished shoes. I felt very frustrated that I couldn't see the rest of him, and then it hit me: I could've used auspex this whole time to see exactly where everyone was. Cursing my stupidity, I burned a little blood and instantly the scene below me jumped into glowing clarity.

Frustration was replaced by anxiety. There were a lot of men down there, all armed. They were all only humans, but a lot of the Tong seemed to have automatic weapons, which I hadn't faced before. Right now they were pointing them at the gangbangers they were doing the deal with, but I had no doubt that the moment I entered the scene, I would become everyone's primary target. I lay there, racking my brains on the best way to do this. I could see a grille in the bottom of the vent ahead, so I crawled towards it, hoping that the echoing footsteps of the patrols would cover up my noise.

The grille opened above a corner of the parking garage. Below me a gang member in a red bandana shuffled his feet and muttered about rats. He was alone, and in shadow. Cautiously I flipped the grate open, but it gave a loud clang as it swung against metal.

"What was that?"

I'd ducked back out of sight as soon as it opened, and I could see the red glow of his body as he looked up.

"What's up bro?" came a call from the middle distance.

"Rats; fucking rats." Replied my target, turning away.

Seizing my opportunity, I dove out of the hole in the vent and rolled behind a car as soon as I hit the ground. It was lucky that I was small; getting stuck halfway would've been awful. As it was, the hilt of my damn sword banged a tire and rebounded a little, smacking me in the head. My targeted gang member jumped and looked up at the grate suspiciously.

"Hurry the fuck up boss, this place gives me the creeps." He muttered under his breath.

I stifled a giggle and then felt a wash of cold sobriety flow over me. After all, I was planning to kill this guy, and there was a good chance his friends would fill me full enough of bullets to give me the final death. I couldn't help feeling sorry for him as I carefully unsheathed my sword and crept closer.

Now I was out from behind the car, although still hidden by shadows, and I could see the knot of men out in the open, counting money over a briefcase laid in front of them. I returned focus to my antsy gang member. I meant to stealth kill him, but at the last moment I had a spasm of conscience and merely rapped him hard on the back of the head with the sword's hilt. Catching him as he collapsed, I pulled him round behind the car and waited to see if anyone noticed. So far so good, although I knew at some point I was going to have to engage them all in order to get that briefcase. I considered taking my sleeping friend's semi-automatic, but Jack had only shown me how to use a pistol. I wasted a good minute trying to figure out what was the safety and then gave up.

So I'd have to rely on vampiric disciplines. Breathing deeply in an effort to gain courage, I flicked the mental switch that gave me blood shield. Instantly, I was covered in a shimmer of crimson. I stood up, oriented myself towards the briefcase, and ran out into the middle of them, screaming my lungs out.

Chaos erupted in a sparking hail of bullets. Happily a lot of them weren't coming in my direction. My sudden appearance caused a lot of confusion and fear, and for some reason the local gang seemed to think I was on the Tong's side. Shouts of "ambush!" and "it's a trap!" filled the air as I cannonballed into the Tong exchange man and snagged the briefcase, scattering bills everywhere. I felt a pang over all that floating money, but there was no time to stop. The Tong men were a little less confused than the other gang, and I quickly found myself being backed against a car by a group of four, while their companions returned fire on their former colleagues.

The four started shooting at me, but my vampiric senses were in full fight mode, and the bullets seemed slower than bees buzzing by me. I ducked and grabbed one's leg, throwing him off his feet. I spun him by that leg, using his flailing body as both weapon and shield. This knocked one of them flying, and dropped my human baseball bat in a crumpled heap on the floor. A bullet whined and careened off my blood shield, striking one of my attackers in the jaw. The sight of his face erupting in red flesh and white bone horrified me, even as my vampire instincts relished the spray of blood spattering my face and hair. Suddenly all I could feel was hunger, and I found myself leaping on the last of the four, burying my fangs in his neck.

By now the others on this level were aware of me, and I only managed a few moments of feeding before my dinner was shot multiple times in the back. I spun away, allowing him to collapse, and slashed wildly at my closest attacker. The sword buried itself in his shoulder and then snapped with a loud ping as it met bone. Grrr, I thought, as I rushed inside his guard and stabbed at his chest. The broken hilt sliced and skittered across his breastbone, shaking itself out of my grip. Cursing Larry's shoddy goods under my breath, I scooped up the briefcase (I'd dropped it when I fed) and dashed behind a pillar.

Shuddering with adrenaline and panic, I glanced about wildly for an escape route. If I hadn't already used so much blood on auspex and shield, I might've considered going back into the fray and blood purging everyone in sight. However, I could feel the hunger inside threatening to break my control; frenzy lurked in my guts, waiting for an opportunity to take over.

To my right I could see the door to the exit stairs. It was now unguarded, but to get to it I would have to run past about eight people trying to stop me. And if one of them thought to get on a cel phone and warn a buddy upstairs, then I could be quickly cut off. All this passed through my mind in the few seconds that it took my attackers to venture round my pillar. I decided I had no choice, and gripping the briefcase tightly, sprinted for the door, weaving as much as I could to avoid bullets.

The noise of that many guns firing was cacophonous, but I was hit less than I thought I'd be. Most of the bullets grazed off me or whined past my hair. The worst was one which nicked me in the leg, forcing me to tumble and roll, jumping up to smack the door open with the briefcase. The door slammed against the wall and I dove through it, hitting my shins on the first step on the other side.

I dodged to the side, pulling the door closed as I did so. The handle was slippery; I leaned against the closed door to get myself together and noticed that my body was smearing the metal dull with rusty blood. Mine or someone else's: I couldn't tell. All my frantic energy left me, and suddenly I felt weary enough to stop and sleep right there. Heaving a sigh, I straightened up and started to jog up the steps, alert to any sound of pursuit or ambush. It wasn't long before I heard the echo of angry voices below me. I quickened my pace, pushing past my weariness. By the sounds of it, I was two floors above them, and near the exit. Looking up, a square grate near the ceiling caught my eye. It looked just big enough for me to hide in. It was hard work right then to take the grille off, manoeuvre the brief case in length wise, and then jump and drag myself in after it. I knew I was leaving the tell-tale grille on the ground, but there was no help for it, no time to go back.

I pushed the briefcase along, praying that it didn't get stuck when the vent turned upwards at a right angle, heading for the roof. Luckily there was just room for it, and after wriggling for a little longer the briefcase popped out into open air, and I followed it in a sprawl of limbs. I'd made it to the roof of the parking garage. The air smelt very sweet and a puff of night breeze caught my hair. The tarmac and grit of the roof's surface was rough and solid under my fingers. I laughed for the sheer joy of still existing, and jumped off the roof into a deserted alleyway. From there it was easy to blend into the shadows; I heard the angry voices rise in bewilderment as I left them behind.

Halfway through the maze of alleys to Larry's, my adrenalin exultation slipped away, and I had to stop and crouch behind a dumpster while the shakes gripped me. Each time I went into battle, my vampire instincts took over, disregarding any morals or empathy in favour of survival. But once things were over, I experienced the full horror of it: I crouched there with my chin on my knees, my mind replaying the violence in lurid detail. The only thing which made me feel better was the fact that I'd managed to deliberately not kill a couple.

After a long time, I stood up, wiped my bloody hair out of my eyes, and continued on to Larry.


	10. Hello My Name Is

You know, I'm so desperate for reviews right now....sob.

Update: I split chapter one into two pieces to make it easier to read, so things have changed.

I wish I knew how to reply in the review area. Oh well. thanks for the review and tip Mary. Sorry about the LaCroix blunder, I guess my old French lessons had me automatically seeing Le cos he's a guy (but I guess crosses are feminine in French?). Btw, looking this up I found there is a French newspaper called La Croix. Who knew? Anyway, can't be bothered to change past stuff right now, but will change for future chapters.

* * *

When I showed up Larry's reaction seemed caught halfway between repulsion and delight.

"Now that's what Ah'm talkin' about. Gi' that right here, baby-girl." His eyes gleamed as I held up the briefcase. I did notice however that as soon as he had it, he edged away from me, staring in fascination at something in my hair.

"Uh, girl, Ah think you got a tooth or something in there," he turned and rummaged in the van, surfacing with a towel. "here y' go, baby. Use dat to wipe off: on tha' house."

I took the towel: it was purple, with Lakers emblazoned on it in gold. Hurriedly I wiped my face and hair, noticing as I did so that my t-shirt was again in tatters. Larry followed my eyes and rummaged again, bringing up a black t-shirt with little gold crowns all over it.

"Black seems t' be your colour, honey." He winked and tossed it to me. Briefly I considered ducking into the alley to change, then remembered his mirror and thought, fuck it. I whipped the playboy t-shirt off and used its rags to get more of the blood off. When I dropped it and the towel, they were both sodden, with specs of gore peppering them.

Larry was looking as if he didn't know whether to be stunned or leering.

"What time is it?" I asked brusquely.

"Ah, uh? One twenty five, yeah, one thirty." He seemed a little flustered.

"I'd better hurry: that sword you gave me broke," I stated matter of factly, "Can I get a better one this time? And my money." I added.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing baby-girl. Here you go, you earned it. You one righteous babe, Ms. Jones." Larry peeled off a stack of bills from a wad and handed them to me, before diving back into his van stock. This time the sword he pulled out looked a lot more brutally efficient. Still Japanese in style, but the blade and hilt were battered and dull, and there were dark brown stains in the webbing of the hilt. This sword had killed people. I took it almost reverently. It fitted snugly in my back sheath, but happily the hilt was shorter and less inclined to bang me in the back of the head.

I knew I should be heading over to the Last Round but there was one last thing I wanted.

"Ipod, do you have an ipod?" I asked hopefully. More rummaging on Larry's part produced an ipod shuffle. I took it, ignoring Larry's murmurs about breaking the bank.

"Thanks for everything Larry." I smiled.

"Hold on one second there, baby." Larry pointed over to the glowing red cathedral club. "Hot mama name o' Venus owns that place. She tol' me she need muscle to clear a problem. Check it out if you be wanting more cash money."

I nodded, and walked into the alleyway. I was a bit worried about being late for my first fighting lesson, although a small voice whispered inside: do I really need one after tonight? I started to jog along the deserted streets, trying to keep my pace human speed. The ipod turned out to be stuffed with hip-hop. I tried to remember seeing a computer in the Last Round, but the atmosphere there had struck me as a little technophobe. I quickened my pace until I was sprinting, and then careened to a sudden stop as the bar came into view ahead of me. Still feeling very rushed, I pulled open the door and walked inside.

The bar was busier than the night before, and the faces which glanced up at my entry decidedly unfriendly. Trying to give the impression of more confidence than I felt, I started to push my way through to the back. Since the press of bodies were all taller than me, I couldn't tell if Jack was lingering in his corner. As I pushed past people I heard the muttering get angrier, until suddenly I saw the snarl of fangs out of a shadowed face and a large man blocked my way. He had pale skin, lots of bushy hair, and a beard that made him look a little like Che Guevara. Combat pants, sleeveless t-shirt, corded muscles on his wiry arms. His large hands were flexing and unflexing into fists as he faced me.

"Out now, bitch." He pointed at the door I'd come in from. I could feel the crowd making a space around us. A little voice inside me sobbed: why can't anything be easy?

I shook my head. "I have an appointment with Rodriguez."

He snarled in my face. "Cam comes in here stinking of blood after rampaging like some Sabbat motherfucker – breaking the Masquerade on _our_ turf – and wants to rap with the main man? Uh uh."

"Rampage? What are you talking about?" I tried to run my fingers through my hair but it was still stiff with dried blood. "Oh, that. It was a job: gang stuff….I swear I didn't break the Masquerade, honest!" I had to shout above the music, but there was no other conversation. The crowd of vampires watched our little interaction with rapt attention. My mind buzzing at full speed, I realised I probably had broken the Masquerade. But they were all gang people: who would believe them?

"Lying bitch! Don't pretend LeCroix aint using you to set us up!"

My opponent closed the gap between us with a movement faster than my eye could see. One moment he was several feet away, the next he was looming right over me, pulling his fist back for a strike. Before I could react, he punched me in the solar plexus, sending me flying. I collided with someone behind me, and was immediately pushed back into the circle. Stunned and in awe of how hard other vampires could hit, I knelt there, expecting a boot in my ribs any second.

"Woah, woah, I leave for two minutes and come back to this? What the fuck d' you think you're doin' Mike?"

I sagged with relief at the sound of Jack's voice. Looking up I could see the vamp he'd named Mike standing in front of me. Jack was by my side in a second: the crowd made way for him, and seemed anxious to avoid eye contact. He hauled me to my feet and gave me a wry look.

"Kiddo, I know I aint one to talk, but your hygiene leaves somethin' to be desired."

Made speechless by the whole situation, I just stood there gasping like a fish out of water. My stomach hurt where Mike had punched me, but I was happy to see that he was backing off, acting almost deferentially towards Jack.

"Better be a good explanation for this." I heard Rodriguez' dark calm voice and immediately the entire bar froze, attention directed towards the stairs. Nines was standing midway, flanked by Skelter and Damsel. He surveyed the room slowly, gaze taking in the scenario. Lastly his eyes lighted on me, and he shook his head mockingly.

"Should've known you'd be right in the middle, Trouble." He raised his voice so that he spoke to the crowd as well as me. "So you all know: start shit round here, you get put down. Same for everyone." His eyes flashed at Mike, who shuffled his feet and looked embarrassed. "This bar equals Elysium: you wanna kill each other; take it outside." He beckoned me over. I glanced at Jack. He nodded and I darted over to the stairs, feeling a bit like a mouse under the stare of many cats.

Rodriguez smiled grimly down at me. "You're young and stupid newbie, so I won't make an example of you; but next time? Don't track blood to my door." I sensed he was still speaking to the crowd as much as me, that were was an undertone of meaning I wasn't quite getting. As I reached him, he turned aside to let me through and indicated with a jerk of his head for me to go past. I did so, half running, half stumbling up the rest of the stairs. I didn't stop until I'd cleared the next flight of steps up to the roof, gulping down fresh night air. I could hear the music faintly below, and the sound of footsteps behind me.

I turned and backed away, kicking up gravel from the roof, as Rodriguez came out of the stairwell.  
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I was practically grovelling, "I didn't know: it was just a job for this dude, and I was in a hurry." I pulled at my t-shirt, "He sells shirts and weapons and stuff." I finished lamely, and hid my face in my palm.

I heard his sigh. "Kid, I don't got time to lay down the rules right now, but it surprises me Jack didn't already tell you this shit."

I looked up at him, feeling horrible pangs of guilt. "He prob'ly did; I just seem to be a bit ADD when it comes to learning all this. I really am sorry," I bit my lower lip anxiously, "you and Jack have been awesome and I wouldn't want to mess things up for you."

He raised an eyebrow and then ran his palm up and down the back of head, musing. This was a gesture I would come to know well. Finally he shrugged.

"Fuck it, it's all good. You'll either learn or die. Let's teach you some goddamn survival skills."

So I spent the next hour learning how to make a proper fist (thumbs outside, and bent tight!), and then learning how to put my body weight behind my punches. It was pretty frustrating, because he was insanely fast, and I found myself missing every time. Reminded forcibly about the difference between fighting true vampires and mere humans, I knew that if this had been a real fight I would've been dead within the first minute.

After about the fiftieth time of me trying to punch him and ending up sprawling against the stairwell door, he stopped and frowned at the skyline.

"Night's near over. Time to stop." He helped me up and fixed me with that brilliant silver stare of his. "Kid, look, I still don't know your name."

I averted my gaze, trying not to look shifty. "Cleo." I said, struck by strange inspiration, "Cleopatra Jones."

Rodriguez did a double take and then laughed in my face. "You even old enough to know that movie?" he asked, cuffing me lightly on the side of the head in a friendly way. "Try again, newb. Your real name."

Again with the memory shit! I clenched my hands in a gesture of pure futility and frustration.

"I don't remember ok!" I spat belligerently. "I don't remember anything really from before that Tremere douche embraced me! I don't know my name, I don't know where I'm from, I'm just completely clueless!" Thinking about that night made me well up, a tight knot of anguish closing my throat.

If Rodriguez was disturbed by my outburst, he didn't show it. He looked me up and down and then folded his arms, that same sense of catlike calm radiating off him.

"Well, Kine past don't mean much to vamps anyways. Only Ventrue care about pedigree. It's strange you don't remember shit, but you're Tremere: that's a fucking weird ass clan. They guard their blood secrets tight." His face broke into a grin, "Hell, you go by Cleo now, who's to care? If y' knew the movie you'd know why I'm laughing, but it'll do."

Feeling a little insulted, I prepared to leave. As I opened the door to the stairs, he unfolded his arms and wagged an admonishing finger at me.

"Same time tomorrow. Don't make me come looking for you, and _stay out of trouble_." This last was spoken with heavy emphasis, and I tried to burn it into my psyche as I tripped down the stairs.

Damsel growled at me again as I made my way downstairs, but other than that, the clientele of the Last Round seemed to have decided I was off-limits to aggression.

By the time I made it onto the street there were signs of dawn in the east: the opalescent sky eerie against the dark of the buildings and the pixie glow of the street lights. I hurried through empty streets to my 'haven', which, bare metal as it was, suddenly seemed very appealing.

Wriggling along my dusty metal tunnels, I found the spot where no light came, and curled up for the night. As I tried to get to sleep, a low beeping began to impinge on my consciousness. My phone! Trying not to bang about too much, I dragged out LeCroix's phone and saw that I had voice mail. I didn't remember him giving me a password for it, but somehow he had it set up so that it came on as soon as I opened the phone.

"Come to my office tomorrow night before midnight. I have a task which I hope shall be within your…limitations. Goodnight." He didn't say his name, he didn't have to. I recognised LeCroix's smooth silky voice from the Venture office. Too tired to think about the future much, I fell asleep.


	11. Dominated

Waking was horrible but at least I had no dreams I could remember. My hair and body were sticky with blood residue. I needed a shower badly. Instead, I had to make do with the washroom of the nearest late night donut shop. The world-weary clerk didn't want me to at first, but I used domination on her. Washing my hair with cheapo liquid hand soap, and having to use wads of brown paper towel to dry, was in some ways a worse experience than all the fighting I'd done so far. It made me feel degraded and desperate: what's the point in having superhuman powers if you can't even get access to hot water and a towel?

Sure, I had the money from Larry: just over a grand. I flipped the bills through my fingers while an irate customer banged on the washroom door. Enough for a ticket out of here, but I'd arrive destitute again. Enough for a payment on that curse of a laptop. Or enough for a hotel room for a week. I was sorely tempted to put part of it towards a hotel room just for a day, but the urge to get free of LaCroix overcame that. Freedom had to be my first priority.

My hair was still drying when I entered LaCroix's suite. He was standing with his back to me, staring out of the bay windows.

"Ah, the fledgling." He welcomed me without turning around. "I am honoured that you could take time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. Please give my regards to our dear charming Rodriguez and his rabble." His voice was smooth, un-tinged by the acid bite of sarcasm, but it made me flinch as if a cobra had darted at me.

"He's teaching me to fight." I countered. To myself I added: and unlike you, he's been a good friend to me so far.

"Oh, I'm sure he is." LaCroix turned and inspected me icily. "However I have more important things for you to do than waste time in dalliances with hoodlums and anarchs. It has come to my attention that a ship is anchored off Santa Monica harbour. This ship, the Elizabeth Dane, is shrouded in mystery. The Nosferatu tell me that when it was discovered, all the crew were dead; but the manner of their death has not been divulged, and there are…disturbing rumors."

He paused, and for a moment his veneer of impassive control faltered. A wave of emotions flitted across his face, revealing fear and unease conflicted with greedy hunger. Quickly he regained control, but I shivered inwardly at what I'd seen.

"Amongst the cargo was a crate containing an artefact from Anatolia." he continued. "A sarcophagus. I require you to retrieve it for me."

I exhaled in disbelief. "From a boat? Wouldn't it be easier to wait until it's on land?"

LaCroix narrowed his eyes. "No, no one else must be allowed to view its contents." He waved me away disdainfully. "Go now. There is a boat provided for you at the pier. I want the item in my possession by the end of this night."

Feeling like this was not a good time, but determined to make a bid for freedom, I took out all my money and held it out to him.

"I'm sorry but I don't think I'm the right person for that kind of job. Look, I brought a payment for the laptop. Can't I just pay you off in instalments and you find someone better qualified to get the box?"

I was prepared for him to be angry, but I hadn't expected his contemptuous laughter. Once it faded, he gave me a mocking clap of applause, and sat down at his desk, steepling his hands in front of him.

"Cherie, this is not about money. You were entrusted with something: you failed in that trust. You will make it up to me. Please don't force me to reconsider my clemency." I could feel him using Domination on me again. Every word seemed another weight around my neck, dragging me into submission.

"You will go to the Elizabeth Dane." His voice echoed, filling my senses. I struggled inside briefly, but his will was too strong.

"I will go to the Elizabeth Dane." I repeated dully.

LaCroix smiled with false warmth. "Excellent! Now that is settled, one final caution. It is of the utmost importance that this doesn't turn into a bloodbath. There must be no deaths, and no betrayal of your presence. You may go."

I felt like an automaton as I walked to the elevator. Only once I reached the lobby did I feel like myself again, and there was still the underlying compulsion. I _had_ to go to the Elizabeth Dane. Which made me really angry. My feet started taking me in the direction of the Last Round, and I allowed them to. I wanted to see if Jack or Rodriguez (why don't you call him Nines, a sly little voice in my head whispered) could take off this compulsion, or give me some advice about my new mission.

Hurrying along to the Last Round, I looked up at the sky. A waxing moon was emerging from a wrack of dark clouds, its silver disc surrounded by a corona of blue grey light. As I tore my eyes away, I saw a purple splodge on the edge of my vision. I looked closer: it was a purple sun symbol at the top of a brownstone building, tucked away at the end of the street. I stopped, stunned. The Tremere chantry: I had been passing it for the past three nights without realising.

I sighed. I was going to have to pass it again, and hope that tomorrow night wasn't as hectic. If I made it to tomorrow night, I warned myself. The idea that I could sneak onto a guarded ship and swipe a man-sized crate from under everyone's noses was laughable. I didn't even know how to drive the boat in order to get to the ship!

"I can't do this." I told myself out loud. "I really can't do this!"

Across the street a guy who was obviously selling drugs jumped at the sound of my voice. He gave me an evil glare; I averted my eyes and kept walking. The last thing I wanted to do right then was get involved in more fighting.

When I came to the Last Round I entered more cautiously than before, hoping that that Mike guy wouldn't be there. Luckily the place seemed to be almost empty, darker than usual. Jack raised his glass to me as I walked over to his booth.

"Greetin's kiddo."

I gripped the edge of the table, arms tense. I was still feeling the compulsion. Go to the Elizabeth Dane _now_. "Help me." I said quietly. "LaCroix did some kind of domination on me. I have to go to the Elizabeth Dane. I don't want to but I have to."

Jack straightened up quickly. "Did he now."

"I can't resist it." I spoke through clenched teeth, but the feeling was starting to subside again. I pushed it away with my mind.

"You got to. Only way to beat it. He's got two hundred years of will on y', so it won't be easy, but it is possible. What's on the Elizabeth Dane?" He sounded casual uncaring Jack, but his eyes were bright and knowing. How old was Jack anyway, I thought.

I took a deep breath. "A sarcophagus from Anatolia. Isn't that somewhere near Turkey? He just said there were rumours. How do I resist it?" We seemed to be juggling two conversations at once.

I watched Jack take a long draw on his ubiquitous cigar and blow a stream of dark smoke at the low booth light. It curled around the inside of the lampshade in sinuous patterns. He seemed to be thinking hard.

"You're sire less, so you don't got nobody you bonded to can show you these things. Lot going on in a vamp's mind. Being Tremere, you've got blood shield for the outside. Now throw that switch in your head to make a shield on the inside. That's all I can tell you, kid."

"Cleo." I corrected absently, trying to visualise switches and walls.

"Huh?"

"Call me Cleo."

"Sure, whatever kid." He shrugged and then pointed the cigar at me. "Back to that sarcophagus: what rumours?"

"He didn't say, but he doesn't want anyone else to even see what's in it. I hate him."

Jack considered me. "You do what you gotta do to survive."

"You're telling me I should go."

He nodded and picked up his glass, swishing the red liquid back and forth.

Leaden-hearted I stood up and prepared to go. "Please, can you tell Rodriguez I can't make the lesson tonight?" I asked.

"Sure kid. Good luck." He bobbed his head to me in a quick bow.

I smiled back sadly. So much for help from him. I suppose I could've gone and tried to get Nines to help me, but from what Jack seemed to be saying; only I could beat LaCroix's domination. And every time I talked to either of them, they seemed unwilling to provoke more confrontation with the Camarilla. I was on my own for this one.

I managed to preserve some semblance of dignity until I was outside the Last Round, but out on the street my face crumpled and I felt like crying. I looked around dully and saw Damsel over by the oil drum fire under the overpass. She was talking to the bums, which struck me as a little strange. I didn't feel like having her shout at me, so I hurried away.

Hoping that LaCroix was efficient enough to provide me with transportation, I opened up my phone and scrolled through the very short address book. Sure enough, there was an entry under 'taxi'. I pressed dial, and soon a voice asked me simply 'where'. I peered at a street sign.

"East 6th St.?" I hazarded.

"Be right there." Replied the static-distorted voice.

Still wondering how he was going to locate me, I loitered under a street light, praying that no one mistook me for a hooker. This reminded me that I still hadn't drunk any blood that night. Oh well, maybe in Santa Monica. In spite of the hip-hop, I listened to my new ipod, trying to find something I could settle on. Ice T's "I'm Your Pusher" was about the most bearable of the lot. I'd repeated it about five times before the taxi turned up. I was thankful it wasn't the cabbie who'd left me on the street for the Sabbat, even though this one was a creepy ghoul too.

It was eerie, watching the world go by from the window of the cab, being whisked away for another spy-type mission. Knowing that I didn't stand a chance in hell of completing said mission, but still not being able to run from it.

The taxi dropped me near my old apartment. After downtown LA the area seemed almost cozy, and my steps quickened as I remembered its layout. I just couldn't pluck up the gumption to hunt for blood, so I stopped by my old friend at the hospital and picked up some blood packs. Sucking on one, I meandered through the parking garage that led to the beach. I had a feeling drinking blood packs on the street was probably breaking the Masquerade, but I didn't much care at that point.

Being back on the beach with the cool quiet water and wide open spaces of the ocean lifted my spirits. As I exited the tunnel and smelt the saline smell of the sea I briefly entertained the thought of just walking into it. Could vampires drown? Or would I just sink and stumble along a never ending path of blackness where the sun couldn't reach?

E and Lily were gone, although the other two guys and the Eastern European woman were still there. And there was a new addition: Mercurio, waiting to see me off.

"How youse doing?" he asked, and beckoned me over to where the little motorboat waited.

"Bad. How are you? How the fuck do I drive this boat?" I frowned up at him, hands on my hips, and then gestured with a wave of frustration towards the offending vehicle.

He chuckled, and went over the basics of start-stop-steer. Half an hour later I was ready to go. I fired up the engine and gripped the tiller nervously. Sputtering into motion, the boat slipped away with me into the night.


	12. Boat to Nowhere

Not sure how much longer I can continue this pace: I feel like I'm churning it out right now. It's annoying cos I've written more exciting bits for further down the road; but I have to help the story get there first.

Please: review, critique, one liner - all appreciated.

* * *

The ship was lit up like a Christmas tree; a glowing blob of colour and light against the grey dark of water and sky. Worried about being spotted, I let the engine fade into silence. The boat bobbed gently on the calm water, soothing me. I sat there unwilling to begin things, trying to pick out the ship's details. At the side end nearest to me a long chain snaked down into the water: the ship's anchor. That seemed to be my best bet for gaining access, but I wanted to make sure I had a boat to come back to. I diverted my attention to the inside of my motorboat. It was too small to carry any kind of anchor, but it had a rope to tie it to a dock.

I took a deep breath as the plan formed in my mind. Moving quickly to avoid losing my nerve, I slid over the side of the boat with the rope in my hand. The water was cold but not unpleasant. As a human I would've been crazy to try this, but vampire strength allowed me to slowly push the boat in front of me while I swam. It was bulky and awkward, and I had to stop a lot to see if I was still heading in the right direction, but it didn't take me long to pull aside the ship's anchor.

I tied the rope through a link in the chain as best I could. The chain was massive, each link as big as my head. It made it hard to grip, and my claws scrabbled on the metal before I managed to gain a hold. The water seemed to suck at me as I slowly lifted my body out of the water and hooked my legs over the chain. Seawater streamed off me, spraying in an arc of glittering droplets when I flipped myself over so that I hugged the top of the chain. Looking up, the ship loomed massive before me. Through the haze of spotlights I could see silhouetted figures patrolling on guard.

I let my face rest against the cold rough metal of the chain link. This was going to really suck. I had a flash image of me running with a huge box over my head and laughed in spite of myself. The whole situation was so absurd it was either laugh or cry, and well, I couldn't waste the blood on tears. Unbidden, the thought of the Tremere who started me on all this popped into my head. I'd never know him, know if he was less of a jerk than he seemed. If he'd lived would he have protected me from situations like this? Or would I simply have been his slave, more completely than I was LaCroix's.

Don't think about it, you have to focus on right now, I told myself. Bringing my feet up to the surface of the chain, I started to shuffle slowly up it, in a half crouch, half crawl. Ship and chain bobbed and swayed in the waves. It was hard to balance, and whenever I passed a window, I was terrified someone would look out of it and see me. As I got higher, the breeze started to whip my hair about. My clothes were sodden and squelchy: anyone who tells you adventuring is all fun and glamour can bite me.

Once on deck I stood there allowing water to stream off me into a big puddle, while I figured out what direction to go in. I really had no idea where to go: it was a huge ship, and even from here I could see the dark wall of stacked cargo containers in front of me. A crate with a sarcophagus might be large to carry, but it was like a needle in a haystack in this environment.

The wind blew through my wet clothes, and I shivered; more because I thought I should than because I was really cold. Time to get going. Picking a direction at random, I noticed there was some kind of navigation room on the deck ahead of me. It didn't look like the main bridge, but I could see papers and maps strewn across its desk, so I snuck over carefully to see if I could get any useful information. Clinging close to the deep shadows by the wall, I walked in a low crouch, listening for signs of guards. Auspex, you dumbass, whispered my inner voice. My blood hummed in my ears as I scanned the area for life auras. Only one or two close by, but many in the middle distance behind the stacked containers. A hint of purple caught my attention. Another vampire? But no, when I looked closer it was a much subtler aura, almost like a scent of someone recently departed.

Trying not to get distracted by it, I crept into the room. I ruffled softly through the papers until I found something of interest. A manifest, placed in a laminated folder. I scanned it quickly, noting that the sarcophagus was registered to a Dr. Johanson and that it was bound for the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History. I grabbed the folder and wedged it under the webbing of my ninja back straps. It made me feel a little like a hunchback, but I wanted to have my hands free. I crept back out of the room again and turned my attention to that wisp of purple surrounded by the red glows of human beings.

Hoping to get a better vantage point, I climbed up the side of the first cargo container until I crouched on top of it. The wind whipped my hair again and I wished I'd had time to chop it before starting on this mission. Glancing behind me I was shocked to see that my wet shoes had left a trail of glistening footprints right to the bottom of the container. Cursing I took off my trainers and wiped my feet on the metal side. I didn't want to lose my shoes, but carrying them would be awkward and slow me down. Regretfully I pushed them to the edge of the roof and then inched forward on my stomach to see what was going on.

Peeking over the edge I could see groups of men in official uniforms. They looked more like police than security guards. Their attitudes betrayed them as bored and inattentive, in spite of the coffee and donuts many were eating. At the other end of the clearing in the forest of cargo containers was a large crate, longer than it was tall. The wood of the cover was splintered and looked like it had been forced open. Looking with auspex I detected a faint purple glow from inside. I sighed: this was going to be impossible but I had to try anyway.

I decided the best way to approach was by skirting the edge of the open space, using the containers as a climbing frame. Rolling over in a prone position I manoeuvred myself towards the side of the next level of cargo containers. I slipped around the back, hoping that by hugging the back face of the container walls I could avoid being silhouetted against the sky. Drinking blood may have become almost commonplace to me, but I felt very inhuman clinging to the vertical face like some kind of lizard or insect. Not having shoes helped a lot there; my bare toes found many crannies and bumps which allowed me to climb sideways like a crab.

The only problem was that I couldn't tell if someone was looking in my direction since my cheek was pressed against the metal and I could only see over the curve of my shoulder. I kept stopping to check around me, but I was high above eye level, and the guards stationed outside of the main circle didn't see me moving cautiously in the shadows. Under the flare of auspex I saw that I was close to my goal and started a downward diagonal.

Once at ground level I crouched at the back corner of the container between me and the sarcophagus. There was a guard on either side of the sarcophagus and a folding table just in front of the right. A coffee pot and a box of donuts stood on it. Once again I found myself biting my nails, trying to formulate a plan that didn't end in lots of dead people. Blood magic got too much attention (and killed people); I would have to try my limited bag of Domination tricks (i.e. trance).

I sidled around the side of the cargo container, crouching as low as I could. What I really needed was a big loud long distraction. I crouched there waffling: could I sound the horn maybe and dash back here while they left? Would they leave? I had a feeling it was a pretty weak distraction. I had two people to deal with beside the crate itself. Facing them on the other side of the open space were three groups of two to three men, plus random patrollers.

Now I was right behind the right guard. He fidgeted with his gun and yawned. Knowing that the longer I waited to act, the more chance there was of someone seeing me, I tranced him and then scuttled quickly back round the left. The left guard hadn't noticed anything strange. I stood up behind him slowly, willing him not to turn around. Using the hilt of my new sword, I smacked him on the back of the head, and held him up in front of me as I pulled him back round the corner and into a pool of shadow.

I considered stealing his shirt and hat to make more of a disguise, but I was too short for it not to be obvious. However, searching him produced a police report on the crew's disappearance, so I added that to my laminated folder and wedged it back under the webbing. Hurriedly I crept back to the side of the crate. This close, I could see it had definitely been broken into; the wood bulged oddly and the lid wouldn't close properly anymore. I could see a glimmer of gold and paint from inside. The whole thing looked bloody heavy, and I was doubtful that even my vampire strength would be enough.

"Hey! You!"

The words I'd been dreading all night rang out, echoing off the metal of the cargo containers. Panicking, I grabbed the edge of the crate and yanked. It moved but my arms were too short to yank it very far. I heard a babble of voices and running feet around me. Desperately I reached under the bottom of the crate and lifted it up. I could lift it, which was amazing, but it was so huge and awkward that I couldn't move fast at all. With my face squeezed against the wood, I heard the sound of guns being readied to shoot.

"Step away from the crate!" someone yelled. In the background I heard another mutter, "How the fuck is that even possible?!"

In that moment I didn't stop to think about the consequences: I whirled in the direction of the voices, made a supreme effort of strength, and hurled the crate away from me. I had a brief glimpse of shocked faces, but then flight instinct took over. I turned away and ran as fast as I could towards the deck railing. Behind me was a clamour of noise: yells, screams, shots, and the sound of splintering wood. The wind off the sea greeted me as I climbed over the railing and stood poised for a second. The water looked black as pitch below me, and very far away. My hair whipped in the wind and a bullet whined through it. Unable to delay any longer, I jumped clumsily, trying to aim as far away from the ship as possible.

Time seemed to slow as I fell. I turned my face upwards to see if I was pursued, but my hair formed a rippling curtain between me and the world. I felt the rushing air as it let me pass. All too soon I plunged legs first into ice-cold darkness. I expected the pain of my legs breaking on impact, but it only stung a little. Hurray for being a monster! I allowed myself to sink, marvelling at how suddenly unafraid I was. I felt removed from the upper world in this deep shadow: no one could follow me here. I pushed up until I was in the circle of water lit by the boat. Long shafts from the floodlights wavered dreamily around me, while the side of the ship rose like a cliff in front of me. I could hear the hum of the ship's engines. When I turned on auxpex I saw first the flashing tiny lifeglows of the fish; looking up, the small frantic glows of the men on board looked eerily similar.

I floated there under the water for what seemed like ages. Trying not to think about the fact that I had definitely failed this mission, I began to paddle slowly towards the back of the ship. Hopefully no one had noticed my little motorboat roped to the anchor. No, it was still there, bobbing up and down gently. I untied the rope, briefly wondering as I did so if I should shimmy up the chain and try again. But now I'd really stirred up the hornets' nest, my element of surprise was gone.

Starting to feel gloominess overtake me, I pushed my boat quietly away from the ship. Once I was outside of the light, I hauled myself back into the boat clumsily – it took a couple of tries, and I was afraid of tipping the damn thing over. My heart quailed within me when I thought of what LaCroix would say, until I remembered I had managed to gather some intelligence reports. Maybe that would stop him from executing me. Glumly I turned the boat towards the distant lights of Santa Monica and started the engine.

Mercurio wasn't there when I got back to the beach, so I just left the boat floating there untied. I felt a bit like something the cat dragged in as I struggled up the wet sand, water streaming from my sodden clothes. Sand squidged deep around my bare toes, reminding me of my lost shoes. The thin-bloods all stared at me, but none of them dared to approach. I sighed; if this was what my life was going to be about, maybe I should invest in a Kevlar wetsuit.

Instead I jogged squishily to the Asylum, ignoring the strange looks from passers-by. My favourite daughters of Janus were at home, so I begged some clothes off them. The results were not ideal: a kilt mini-skirt several times too big and an equally oversized blazer but no shirt and no shoes. I suspected Jeannette & Theresa of having a little fun with me, but I wasn't in a position to reject anything. I wrung my old clothes out as best I could and balled them into a tight clump. After I changed, I took out the two reports I'd managed to snag, and read them closely.


	13. Into the Parlour

It's been too hot to write. Many thanks to those who have stuck with me so far.

* * *

The manifest was pretty self-explanatory: one crate containing a pre-Assyrian artefact – Ankharan site transport to the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles, to be delivered into the care of Dr. Johansen. The police report, on the other hand, stated that despite signs of amazing physical violence, there were no signs of the crew, and no signs of theft. It did mention that the crate containing the sarcophagus had been tampered with, but to what purpose, the report didn't conjecture. I put both documents aside and concentrated on what to do next.

It was only then that I realised that the compulsion LaCroix had laid on me was gone: apparently success wasn't a factor. I debated to myself whether it was suicide to turn up without the sarcophagus. Probably less suicidal than just not turning up. I glanced down at myself in my hideous and ill-fitting clothing and then around at Therese/Jeannette's room. I was sitting on the edge of their large heart-shaped bed (very pink). My underwear was blowing in a fan's breeze in a feeble attempt to dry it. I'd been quite resistant to taking it off, but Therese (I was glad it was her rather than Jeannette's leering) had pointed out that if I didn't I would leave puddles every time I sat down.

Ok. So I should take the reports to LaCroix. If I lived through that then it would probably be time to sleep, and I would have to move clothes buying up to priority number one for the next night. Oh, and go to the Tremere chantry. And visit this Venus person who had a job for me. I sighed. Not to mention the fact that I really couldn't miss another fighting lesson. Wondering if I'd had such a hectic social calendar as a human, I stood up and gingerly felt my underwear: it was almost dry. Therese/Jeannette looked up from her computer.

"Are you done yet?" she asked testily in Therese's voice.

"Yeah, sorry, I'll get out of your hair." I pulled my damp underwear on. "Thanks for the clothes."

She snorted and then giggled as Jeannette came to the fore. I left quickly, not wanting to deal with that personality right then.

Out on the street I was about to call LaCroix's cab service, but a surge of hunger decided me on feeding first. The Asylum was such a good area for feeding: there were always some drunk clubbers around in the alleyways. I managed to fasten onto a shorter woman who was just finishing off a joint by herself. That made me happy: it's so much easier when the person you're drinking from is near to your height; none of this jumping about or having to dominate them into coming down to your level. Feeling revitalised, I put in a call to the cabbie, only to realise that he had actually been waiting on the street for me.

He gave me a peculiar look as I climbed into the back, no doubt a comment on my dress sense and lack of shoes. While we were headed downtown it struck me as odd that he was there at all, since I was supposed to be bringing a sarcophagus with me, and it certainly wouldn't have fit in the cab.

The night was almost over when I headed out of the elevator and into LaCroix's suite. He was at his desk, signing papers. As always, the Sherriff stood behind and to one side, a motionless statue of potential violence. LaCroix glanced up as I entered and his immaculate brows furrowed into a frown.

"Was there not something you were supposed to bring me?" His smooth voice contained a snarling undercurrent. "My information network tells me you did not complete your task. I am impressed by your gall in showing up here without it."

In preparation for this moment I had readied the two reports inside my blazer. I reached inside to take them out. Instantly, the Sherriff uncoiled into motion and I found myself pinned by my throat off the ground while he checked my blazer for a weapon.

"Urk," I gasped, "I stole some reports! That's all: I just thought they might be useful to you." My feet kicked ineffectually. The Sherriff groped around and found the reports. He dropped me to the ground and handed them to LaCroix, then marched back to his guard position without a word. LaCroix perused them in silence, merely raising an eyebrow when he saw the police report. I waited for a response, holding my bruised throat.

Finally he spoke. "Yes, very interesting. No doubt my operatives could have given me the same information, but it's always pleasant to be one step ahead." He paused and then started to say more, but I cut him off daringly.

"There's something else," I said, "There was a vampire there at some point: I saw traces of its aura."

"Indeed?" Suddenly he seemed a lot more focused on my words. "Describe what you saw. Exactly."

"Well, that's it really, I saw very faint purple coming from the crate when I looked with auspex. It was barely a trace."

LaCroix's manner became pensive. He stood up and went to the window, turning his back on the room.

"You are dismissed. I will contact you when the sarcophagus reaches the museum. I trust you will not fail me again." I couldn't see his face, but his tone turned more biting. "Oh, and do try to carry yourself a little more professionally: your appearance has reached Malkavian levels. I do not employ lunatics, and I will not tolerate such inappropriate attire. Get some shoes." Without looking around, he waved me away haughtily.

Feeling like I had just about had enough of that night, and the vampire world in general, I retreated to the elevator. The soft hum as it descended made me even sleepier. By the time I was outside and walking towards my inadequate haven I was having trouble staying awake. The last thing I did before I curled up in my vent was lay out my wet t-shirt and capris to dry.

The background was the same: dark clouds, dark hills, incandescent lightning. Only now the dark man wore a death mask of beaten gold. The features of the mask flowed molten, shaping themselves into a smile. I stood at the bottom of the hill looking up at him. He extended a hand to me in welcome, but I shook my head in fear. His arm grew long and the hand larger, until it was a darker cloud against the black sky, looming over me. I screamed as he reached down…

…and screamed myself awake, thrashing against the sides of the vent. Panting with residual terror, I lay stiff, listening to any sound that someone below had heard me. The only noises I heard were the hum of machinery and the distant sounds of the city outside. Sitting up I checked my clothes to see if they were dry. I didn't want to think about the nightmare; it was too close. My t-shirt was only damp around the seams, but the capris were still quite wet, and starting to smell a bit mouldy. Think positive, I told myself; at least you finally have a shirt again.

Running barefoot through a major city is a little surreal. It takes the focus away from your sight and transfers it to the feeling in the soles of your feet. I didn't have to worry so much about cutting them, but it was still strange to feel the roughness of the tarmac compared to the smooth chill of pavement concrete. Each crack between slabs was a distinct sensation. I found myself remembering the old child's myth of monsters ready to pounce if you stepped on a line. Half-jokingly I lengthened my pace so that I was jumping from slab to slab. The drug dealers, hookers and clubbers were starting to give me queer looks so I stopped and started to move more purposefully.

First stop, Larry's.

"Uh yeahh, babygirl. Ah got what you need!"

I had requested new shoes, and he produced some pairs of girly Pumas. A black pair with an aqua stripe fitted me ok.

"How about trousers?" I asked, peeling off some bills to give to Larry. As he accepted them and went back into the van, I reflected that soon all the money he'd given me for that job would have returned to him. Then I did a double-take: with a leer, Larry was holding up a pair of gold lamé booty shorts. I shook my head firmly; he sagged a bit and held up some navy blue basketball shorts.

"They's for kids, but I think they fit you fine." He said, handing them to me.

I pulled them on under the skirt and then tossed it away. They did fit fine, which was a little embarrassing, but better than that skirt. I tore off more bills for Larry with a sigh and then waved farewell to him.

"Go see Venus!" he yelled after me.

I nodded absently and started veering towards the Tremere building. It felt good to actually have real clothes again, but now I was focused on my mysterious invitation. The thought of meeting someone from my 'clan' was very intriguing. Although I was somewhat resentful, since the Tremeres had so far not bothered to help me or see how I was doing at all. When I made it to the chantry, I stopped in front, taking in the details. It was a seemingly unassuming brown brick building with lots of curtained windows, and the only thing unusual about it was the purple sun symbol affixed to the top. To human eyes it would look just another sign, but to my auspex vision, the symbol glowed with power. The double doors were dark bottle-green, and there seemed to be no lock or key. Neither was there a bell or intercom system. I frowned, and pushed experimentally on one of the doors. It swung open smoothly under my touch.

It felt like stepping into another time inside the chantry. Of course, the major colour theme was red, and there was something very plush about the whole place. The carpet was thick dark red with a Turkish feel to it. The walls were covered in patterned wallpaper: at first I thought it was a tiny curling flower pattern, but looking closer, I saw that it was made up of tight filigree symbols. Any wood showing was dark mahogany, with brass accents. As the door swung shut, all sounds of the city outside were cut off, replaced by a heavy dense silence. Even the air was still and quiet. There seemed to be no one around: cautiously I started to walk down a random corridor, past door after closed mahogany door. I turned a corner and suddenly there was a high sweet tone, like a small bell being hit. The corridor morphed as I watched, and now there was a double door where there had been none. It had rose glass windows in its dark wood, with flickering light behind them.

The doors swung open of their own volition as I approached, allowing me to see the room inside. The room was dominated by a huge fireplace, and a large fire burned in the grate, despite the warm weather outside. It was the main source of light, creating a very stifling, tense atmosphere. Again the décor was deep rich red; heavy velvet curtains blocking the windows. Ornate furniture flanked the fireplace, arranged precisely around the room. The whole place had a very Victorian air: not in the usual fussiness associated with that era, but more a feeling of sumptuous weight. I caught an intuitive sense of weight of years and tradition, and social niceties, but with an undercurrent of savage violence. It was pretty creepy, and I could feel my hackles rising.

In front of the fireplace stood a vampire male who exuded an aura of command that dwarfed LaCroix's preening. He was tall and slim, dressed in a deep crimson suit and long coat. Even his tie was crimson. The material and cut were of the highest quality despite the lack of frippery. I was reminded of the tales of the Templars, who kept the rules of their order by wearing plain colours, but defied the spirit of it by using silks that in those days cost more than their weight in gold. He was bald, and his eyes were hidden behind smoky wire-rimmed glasses of an antique style. The face he presented to me was bland and unexceptional compared to his dress and surroundings. On a whim, I switched to auspex and held my breath at how deep his aura was. I was still learning how to understand this sight, but I estimated that he was at least as old as Beckett or Jack; far older than vampires like LaCroix, Therese/Jeannette or Rodriguez. His aura pulsed with power, authority and barely-restrained malignity.

Unfortunately, I didn't realise that anyone could tell if I was using auspex. But he could, and the moment I used it, his nostrils flared in offense. Embarrassed by his reaction, I swiftly switched back to normal sight and walked towards him.

"Hello, I got your message." I said evenly, trying to project more confidence than I felt.


	14. Tremere 1 Cleo 0

Zomg! It actually worked! Well, last week was a bit of a wash out: I was really ill the whole week and then this site wouldn't let me upload anything for the whole weekend. And I'm running out of snappy chapter titles...

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"Welcome neonate." he said. Outwardly he was expressionless, but even without auspex I could sense an aura of ruthless cold that the fire in the grate had no power to warm. His voice was very cultured and well-modulated, but there was something eerily sibilant about it. This person is the most dangerous of all you've met so far, a little voice whispered in my head. Be wary.

"Are you Strauss? I-I was hoping you could answer some of my questions," I stammered, "but you had something you wanted to talk to me about first?" All my false confidence had evaporated in the face of this sinister powerful personality. Any hopes I'd entertained of finding a happy family with my clan were completely gone; at this point all I wanted to do was get out of that place alive.

He stared at me without speaking for what seemed like a long time. "Yes. I am Maximillian Strauss, the Regent of this chantry. How might I address you, youngling of our Blood?"

I hesitated. Logically, it would be best to tell this head of my clan everything about my memory problems and dreams, but my sense of self-preservation was screaming at me not to. I clamped down on it: it was silly to start with a pointless falsehood. And something inside me hoped that he knew more about me than I did.

"I'm sorry but that was one of the things I wanted to ask you about. I don't remember my name, or anything from my human past, really. Just flashes here and there. Is all that normal for Tremere?" I shrugged. "I've started calling myself Cleo."

There was another long silence as Strauss digested this. It felt a bit like having a conversation with some heavy-lidded reptile. I wondered if all vampires got like this as they grew older, time stretching like taffy for them. It was hard not to fidget. Eventually he nodded his head very slightly and seemed to come back to the present.

"No, this is not something connected with our Blood (I swear he spoke that word in capitals). The method of your embrace was highly unconventional, and consequently you are _outside_ the Pyramid, but this should not affect your memory." He sighed regretfully. "Your sire was an unexceptional member of the Tremere clan, although perfectly competent, until he took it into his head to embrace in such a manner."

Wondering what the 'Pyramid' was, I asked, "Did he say why at all? Or who I was?" A sudden thought struck me, "What was his name?" As I said this, I realised that it was a real source of anguish to me, not knowing anything about the person who had brought me into this strange underworld.

"His name? David, I believe. He was quite low in our hierarchy; I did not have the pleasure of talking to him much." Strauss made a dismissive gesture. "As to your origins or his motivation, no, he said nothing." He peered over the top of his spectacles at me, and I saw with a shock that his eyes were the same red as his suit. It made me think crazily of him being full of blood up to his eyeballs.

"So, um," I really didn't know how to ask politely why they hadn't welcomed me into their clan, but felt I had to, "Since he's gone, will someone else be teaching me about the Tremere?"

Strauss looked long into my face, studying it. "I think not." He said finally. "The Tremere clan has very strict laws and prerequisites for those embraced. You are an unknown, possibly chaotic, factor, and we would need exceptional proof of your dedication to our…values, before your entry into the Pyramid would even be considered." He leant his head back so that the smoky glass hid his eyes again. "But rest assured, we will be observing you. For now it is best you continue your employment with LaCroix."

"And if I fail to prove my dedication?" the words blurted out before I could stop them.

"Then the impact of your continued existence will be weighed by my superiors." The menace in his voice was clear.

Just what I needed: another level of threat and servitude piled on top of what I already got from LaCroix. I wept inside with frustration that no one would help me out of this tangled web of obligations.

"Ok, can you tell me how I can prove myself?" I asked. The unspoken 'at least' hung between us. I tried not to think about the fact that so far the Tremere totally creeped me out and I really didn't want to be part of their mysterious Pyramid.

Strauss seemed to consider my words, although I was pretty sure he knew exactly how our conversation would go. "We Tremere strive for order and stability; we are the cornerstone of the Camarilla and the Masquerade. Recently this city has been plagued by a Kine epidemic which is unnatural in origin. Who, we do not know, but some Kindred, or group of such, are spreading this plague." He turned and glared into the fire. "This threatens the Masquerade. Stop them. Such an act would be much appreciated."

I nodded dully. This seemed like another quest designed explicitly to get me killed. Did every vampire leader see me as a problem to be discreetly disposed of? Not Jack and Nines, I thought. Even though they couldn't free me outright, they had been helping me.

"Good luck in your endeavours, neonate." Strauss bowed his head. Obviously our conversation was over from his point of view.

I bowed back and turned to leave the room.

"One more thing: you would be wise, very wise, to pick your associates carefully. We do not share our secrets or our blood with the Anarchs. Do you understand?" His look was very predatory. I wondered if he had had people following me from the beginning.

It was tempting just to nod and go, but I felt like that would be a betrayal. "Anyone who saves my life twice has got to have at least some of my loyalty, or what kind of person would I be?" I said, raising my chin in defiance.

There was a flicker in Strauss's eyes behind their shadowed glass. "Tread carefully youngling. Human morals do not apply to our world."

Not knowing how to respond honestly without angering him further, I bowed and left. The moment the rose glass doors swung shut behind me with a click there was that bell again, and the front door were right in front of me. The hairs of the back of my neck rose further, along with a heightened sensation of being watched. Breathing deeply, I forced myself to walk slowly up to the doors and pushed them open. The sounds of the city switched on like a radio, and I felt the normal flow of time pick me up and carry me with it. Even the stale pungent air of the city alleyways felt like a fresh breeze after the dead stillness of the chantry.

So, the Tremere were worse than a dead loss when it came to allies. Time to go and apologise to the friends I still had. I started to jog along the route to the Last Round, relishing the bouncy feel my new pumas gave me. I slowed to stare as I passed two men in containment suits standing on a street corner. They looked pretty official: it seemed Strauss hadn't been kidding about an epidemic. Maybe I should ask the Anarchs about it since this was pretty close to their territory.

The interior of the Last Round was familiar enough by now to feel like my 'local', although I still wasn't getting much of a welcome from the clientele. No shoving or threats this time though. I made my way through the smoky atmosphere to the back stairs. Jack wasn't around, but the man Rodriguez had called Skelter was standing near the bottom of the stairs, blocking the way to the back. As I approached, I took a closer look at him. African American, he was tall, with a bald head and a very strong jaw-line. He sported small gold rings in each ear, but was dressed in a generic approximation of army fatigues: olive green t-shirt and combat pants, scuffed combat boots. His eyes were a disturbing orange colour, glinting with anger when he saw me. There was a long ragged scar running along the side of his head, the first real scar I'd seen on a vampire. Altogether, a tough looking man.

"Well, if it aint LaCroix's little bootlicking bitch, back again. What can we do for you this time Cam?"

"You know, your boss is much friendlier, maybe you should be too." I snapped. Sure, he could kick my ass, and my words were a little provocative, but at this point I didn't think he'd cross Rodriguez just to fuck me up, and I was getting pretty sick of the way most vampires treated me.

Eyes flashing, Skelter showed me his fangs. "Typical fucking Cam, think everyone's either boss or flunky. Nines leads by example, from the front, that's why he's my motherfucking main man. He don't hide behind little girls like that fucking Prince. You want respect from me, you gotta earn it."

"Ok, ok!" I backed up, wishing I'd been a bit more diplomatic. "I just wish everyone here wasn't so hostile. I only work for LaCroix because otherwise he'll kill me. What would you do?"

He snorted angrily, but it seemed like my words affected him. "Yeah, it's tough being sireless in this world, but you aint the only one it's happened to. Sooner or later, you aint gonna be able to use that as an excuse. Like I just said, you gotta stand on your own two feet girl, if you want respect round here."

I gritted my teeth. "You know as well as I do, LaCroix's Sherriff can crush me like a bug. I'll do whatever I can to help the Anarchs, but you can't expect me to go up against him in a fight."

Frustrated and upset, I started to climb the stairs, but Skelter motioned me to wait.

"You really wanna help?" He asked suspiciously. I nodded, lips compressed in a tight line. "Then you talk to Damsel 'bout all this plague shit. Maybe she can find something for you to do, somethin' even a newbie can't fuck up."

"Alright, I'll try to talk to her. She's refused to speak to me so far, though." I said a trifle regretfully. For all her attitude, Damsel seemed like an interesting woman, and it would've been nice to have a girl friend in this somewhat male dominated world.

Skelter chuckled. "Just gotta keep trying. She aint as tough as she likes to make out."

I gave him a disbelieving look and continued up the stairs. Damsel was perched on a bar stool at the top of the stairs, looking bored and moody.

"Not you again." She snapped as I entered. I opened my mouth for some snappy comeback and then stopped. Although there was still some fire in her voice, she sounded tired, and there was a hollowness around her eyes.

"You ok?" I asked hesitantly.

This seemed to put her back up and she lifted her head, eyes flashing. "I'll be fine when I don't have to see your skanky ass no more!" she spat. "Fucking nosey little Cammy: get out of my face!"

Feeling like any further conversation was futile, I turned my focus to the table. Rodriguez was there alone, but he looked deep in thought, chin resting on his hand as he stared into the middle distance.

"Don't bug him now, bitch: he's got a lot on his mind. If you weigh him down with more shit, so help me, I swear I'll-"

"Actually, I came to apologise," I cut her off before she could launch into a full torrent of spite, "and to ask if I can help with the plague situation." But you wouldn't listen, I added to myself.

Damsel sighed and tossed her head, locks of red hair bouncing. I looked at it enviously: my pale hair was lank around my shoulders, and though I hadn't seen them in detail since being embraced, I had a dim memory of how equally wan my eyebrows and lashes were.

"Cam, if you really want to help, do some scouting. I've tried getting info from the bums and hookers round here, but they're all too scared to talk." She sneered at me, but I could feel her heart wasn't in it, "Maybe they'll buddy up to someone who looks like they belong."

I nodded, ignoring her insults, and walked towards the table where Rodriguez sat. At first I thought he wasn't aware of my existence, but then he said, "Hi Cleo – we still calling you Cleo?" and smiled without looking round.

I pulled up the chair next to him and sat down, tracing the wood grain of the table with my fingers bashfully.

"Sorry I didn't make it last night: LaCroix sent me to a ship to get a box. I fucked it up anyway, so I guess I'm still his slave." I offered as an explanation.

His eyes focused on me, and I felt that same sense of being evaluated. Then he shrugged wearily. "You lived, count it as a victory. Lotta shit going down in this city right now; maybe you're lucky La Prince has you off on some fucking wild goose chase." He rubbed his eyes and stretched, cracking his knuckles.

"Like the plague? I can help," I said eagerly, probably too eagerly, said the cynical little voice in my head, "Damsel said I could do some scouting."

Rodriguez stood up and frowned down at me. "As long as you don't try to take one o' these plague-bearing motherfuckers yourself, I guess."

This nettled me a bit. Hadn't I fought and killed a bunch of people already as a vampire: as well as those low-level Sabbat in the warehouse? I got to my feet facing him, and clenched my fists. "I'm not completely helpless, you know." I told him.

He sighed in exasperation. "'gainst humans and thin-bloods maybe, but this is more than just shovelhead games." He pointed up at the ceiling. "Night you can land a punch on me up there, night I start thinkin' you're ready to take on some real vamps."

This deflated me a little, but I was determined to show him I was tough. "Ok, let's go then."

Rodriguez raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle a grin. "After you kid." He bowed and waved me towards the rooftop stairs mockingly.

Feeling like maybe I'd signed up for more than I could handle, I trotted up the stairs and whirled at the top of them. Maybe if I didn't give him time to get a firm footing…


	15. Conversations about Age

Ok, it's official: this story has now taken on a life of its own and I'm no longer in control. I found this chapter quite surprising as it wasn't quite what I wanted to write at all, it just came out that way.

Oh, and reviews. I can tell from my stats page there's now around 50 people following this tale (thank you so much guys), and yet I only have 8 reviews? Come on people: tell me what you liked, didn't like etc. Christ, tell me I use too many adverbs or the word 'feel' too much, anything! I'm begging you!

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I'd hoped that by being ultra-sneaky and kicking as he came up the stairs, I could at least get a free shot in and make him rethink my skills, but of course, it didn't turn out that way. It was a pretty good kick, and I put a lot of power into it: unfortunately, he parried it easily and before I knew it, he'd grabbed my ankle and flung me down on the tarmac on my back. As he reached the top of the stairs, I found myself hanging upside down by that ankle, hair barely touching the ground. A wave of gratitude for my new shorts ran through me: this was embarrassing enough without flashing my knickers. He held me up further and I saw the smirk on his face.

"Nice try. Next time don't telegraph your move."

"Grrr." Was all I could manage as a response. Rodriguez lowered me to the ground and waited for me to regain my feet. I jumped up into the fighting stance he'd taught me: hands up, legs planted and body turned to protect my torso. He frowned again, and I knew I'd forgotten something.

"Too flat-footed." He observed. "Y' need to think like a boxer: be ready to duck and weave. You aint going to be able to take a punch, so you need to get out of the way." In way of demonstration, he feinted with his left and then jabbed me in the face with the right. My hands were high enough to protect me, but I guess too close to my face, because the impact jolted them back and I ended up whacking myself in the nose.

"Owww." I breathed, although it didn't hurt that much. While I was concentrating on my nose, Rodriguez feinted again and then felled me with a leg swipe.

"Concentrate on my moves, not the pain, kid." He instructed as he helped me to my feet.

"I know, I know. I swear it's different when it's for real though," I argued, "adrenalin seems to help a lot."

He shook his head in frustration. "Look, I know you think you're hot shit cos you can slaughter humans by the dozen, but you're in for a big surprise the first time you fight a vamp who knows what they're doing." He rubbed the stubble of his facial hair contemplatively, making a slight rasping sound. "Maybe I'm goin' too easy on you. You want real? I can up the ante." He started to circle me, fists tight.

Half annoyed, half anxious, I shifted to keep him in front of me, trying to anticipate his first move. It came without warning; a lightning strike faster than my eye could see. I saw his fist glow blue for a fraction of a second and then I was flying backwards across the roof, a numb feeling in my solar plexus. This quickly flared into pain, compounded by my back striking the edge of a vent shaft. I collapsed on the ground, stunned. As I shook my head to clear the muzziness, he squatted beside me.

"Real enough for ya?" he asked.

I struggled to regain my voice. "Not fair," I protested, "you didn't say anything about using powers."

Nines helped me into a sitting position, his hand on my back as I leaned forward over my aching solar plexus. "That was just a touch of disciplines. Get used to it: lotta clans have celerity or potence."

I looked round at him angrily. "Yes, but I can't use mine in practice: they're too…" I searched for the right word, "fatal?"

He snorted laughter. "You're still thinking human, kid. Vamps are going to have resistance to your blood magic: more powerful they are, less they'll be affected. Besides, don't you have some kind o' defensive shield?"

I gulped, and made a failed attempt to scramble to my feet. "It sucks, or at least, I suck at it. You know, you didn't have to hit me _quite_ so hard."

Although his face was in shadow, I could tell he was grinning. He helped me up with a hand under my elbow. "You wanted real, brat."

I knew he was right, and that made me even grumpier. "Why are you so bloody concerned about keeping me alive anyway? No one else is." I blurted out, instantly horrified by what I was saying. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "I'll never be able to join the Anarchs: Strauss will kill me if I do. So if this is all some kind of recruiting gig, you might as well stop now." I bit my lip, wishing I could take those sentences back. Way to alienate one of the only two allies you have, dumbass, I told myself.

Rodriguez gave me a shuttered, closed-off glance and then walked over and sat down on the back of the air conditioning vent. He motioned me to sit next to him, but stared straight ahead when I did. I felt like he was trying to choose his words carefully, but why, I couldn't tell.

"You're smart to be wary." He told me finally. "But don't go lumping me in with those back-stabbing, politicking fuckers in the Camarilla. Yeah, I admit, I'm always on the look-out for new blood to bring to the Movement, and you got a lot o' potential." Here he stopped, and rubbed the back of his head. "Even if you don't join us officially, having a friendly ear in the enemy camp don't hurt. But that aint the whole story…what?" he asked as I fidgeted impatiently.

"You want me to be a spy." I said flatly.

"Only if you feel up to it. I won't push you into anything you aint comfortable with. Anyway, let me finish…Truth is, I feel like you're going through a lot o' the same shit I did when I was embraced. Does my conscience good to help you avoid some o' the same pitfalls."

"Yeah, Jack said you were sireless too: how come?" I wasn't sure whether to be weirded out or happy that Nines was opening up so much.

He glanced round at me and then went back to staring out over the city horizon. "Came to California during the 30s to get out of the Dustbowl. I was just some dumb Okie Mestizo back then; thought there'd be work out here. Didn't fucking happen. I was drinking my last dollar one night - some hobo bar down by the docks - when this drop-dead gorgeous dame walked in, picked me out o' the crowd. Blonde, looked a lot like Jean Harlow." He rolled his eyes as I made a who? gesture. "Took me back to her hotel room: next night I woke up a vampire. She told me she was going out for a drink; never came back. Heard years later she ran into one Sabbat too many that night, but at the time I thought she just took off." He sighed and looked at the ground.

"Sorry to hear that." I said politely.

"Meh, it was a long time ago. Biggest problem was, I had no clue about any vamp shit. First couple of nights I killed by accident when I fed. Hell, first morning I didn't even know enough to stay out of the sun!" He chuckled softly and shook his head. "Pure luck I ran into some Anarchs before the Sabbat or Cam found me. They showed me the ropes; explained all this fucked up shit. 'Fore I knew it, the Cam started trying to take over LA and we were in the middle of a war. We kicked them out in the 40s, but sometimes it feels like we've been warring ever since."

For awhile we sat there in silence while I tried to digest all this new information. I found it hard to equate Nines Rodriguez being so vulnerable with the self-confident, self-contained leader who sat next to me. It also put a slight dampener on the crush I'd been developing: strangely, if he'd been a couple of hundred years old it would've felt less wrong than fancying someone who was in their 90s. He was way out of your league anyway, I told myself firmly, and resolved to have only platonic thoughts about him in the future (yeah, right!).

"What about you, kid?" he asked, breaking the long silence. "Any memories come back yet?"

I picked my fingernails sheepishly. "Nope. And it's not a Tremere thing; if Strauss is telling me the truth."

"Not even a clue how old you are? Family, job, favourite colour?" He was still staring out at the dark buildings in the distance, but somehow I felt that he was waiting intently for my answer.

I shook my head unhappily. "Not really. I only seem to find out what I think about stuff when it happens: like, I didn't know I hate rap music until I got an ipod full of it." This whole turn in the conversation was making me melancholy. "I don't even know what colour my fricking eyes are."

"Grey-green." He answered, without looking round.

"Oh."

Then his brow furrowed and he turned towards me. "See, there's a reason the age question is important. O' course, the Cam claim it as one of their regs, but it's been a rule for all vamps for as long as I know: no one makes kids into vamps. And if they do, that childe gets killed. Quick."

"That's horrible!" I exclaimed. "Why? And what does that have to do with me?"

At least Nines had the decency to look embarrassed by what he said next. "Well, ah, you look pretty young kid. Hard to tell whether you're just a really…uh…well-developed fourteen year old, or a very young looking twenty-something. And fourteen would be right on the cusp."

Now I felt like I was blushing furiously: I hadn't realised I looked _that_ young, in spite of some of the comments I'd received. "I don't feel that young." I responded firmly. "And I still don't understand."

"Kids who get turned…it does something to them. To their minds. Even Malks uphold the Masquerade – mostly; but child vamps, it's like they don't know when to stop. Feed in front of a crowd if they feel like it: no pity, no remorse, no understanding of discretion. Even Sabbat don't stand for them: too dangerous to have around."

Feeling very defensive, I stood up and backed away from him. "I'm not – I wasn't a child." Maybe this next was too much information, but he was scaring me a bit now. "Obviously I was old enough to drink in a bar the night _David_ (I spat my sire's name) embraced me, and I wasn't a bloody virgin either-" I stammered to a halt here, thinking that these days, that didn't mean much.

"Chill out: sit the fuck back down." Rodriguez commanded. "_I_ know that. What I'm trying to get through your goddamn thick skull is the fact that if you don't watch out, sooner or later someone's gonna jump you, thinkin' they're putting down some abomination to the fucking Masquerade."

"So? What am I supposed to do?" I remained standing, feeling oddly betrayed. "Trowel on the makeup and wear a twinset and pearls?"

"Jesus kid-"

"Don't call me that!" Fists clenched, I started to stamp my foot in rage, and then stopped when I thought about how childish that would seem.

"Calm down." Although his voice was even, he snarled and showed me his fangs, so I knew he was serious. Like a pricked bubble, the anger drained out of me, and I slumped back down beside him.

"Sireless; look too young; beholden to a fucking asshole Camarilla Prince; Tremere without the back-up of your clan: you got a lot o' strikes against you, _Cleo_." He shot me an irritable glance as he enunciated my name. "Best you learn how to deal with this shit early on. I aint saying dress like a motherfucking Ventrue, but bumming around looking like a street kid don't help – no, I know you aint going to fucking interrupt me again." he glared at me as I opened my mouth to protest, "You need to watch your back more'n most, girl. Deal with it."

"Ok," I sighed. "I'll try. Thanks for the advice. I had no idea." I giggled, more to break the tension than because it was funny. "I always thought I looked more like a bag lady than a street kid – owww!" He'd cuffed my ear as I said this, which I took to be an act of forgiveness.

"Enough chatter: you take up too much o' my time. Get outta here; come back tomorrow."

Nines pushed me to my feet. I swung round and saluted him jokingly, then trotted off down the stairs. Damsel narrowed her eyes as I passed, but didn't growl, which was an improvement. I felt curiously light-hearted as I left the Last Round, in spite of things. It made such a huge difference to have someone to talk to about stuff, someone who seemed to be looking out for me. I was in such a good mood that it didn't even deflate me when I remembered I'd forgotten to feed that night. Tripping along the dark streets towards my haven I decided to treat myself. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, I dug out the plastic bag that served as my wallet, and started to count out my remaining cash. Less than $500: still enough for a hotel room. I recalled vaguely that there was a hotel near the cathedral club. It was way too late for check-in, but I had a plan involving domination.


	16. Cleo Bathes

Hey all, thanks for the comments and support. Sorry this chapter is so short: I'm wrestling some internal demons right now, and they're kicking my ass. This is the kind of stuff I've been writing instead:

'The shadows on the face of the guy who held a knife to my throat when we were home invasioned. He gave me back Granny's lacquer box when I pleaded for it, but threw a free weight in my face when I followed him. Nothing hurts quite like a big chunk of metal and hard plastic hitting your cheekbone hard enough to send you flying.'

Anyway, please be patient with me: I promise I'll be back to Cleo soon...

Update: I did some more on this chapter: it's still not the best ever, but at least it's getting me back into the swing of things.

* * *

The city was just beginning to wake up, the blue grey of pre-dawn edging the sky, when I got to the Empire Hotel. It was a mid-range sort of place; tastefully done up in chrome, tinted glass and a very strange fabric theme of muted orange (– this will be changed once I get that far in the game again!) and the lone night shift desk clerk gave me a very disapproving look when I entered. Ignoring this I sashayed nonchalantly up to him and burned some blood for domination.

"Give me a room for today and the next night." I commanded. His nostrils flared as he tried to fight my will, but I persisted and his eyes glazed over. A bead of sweat trickled out of his slicked back brown hair and crawled down the side of his face.

"That'll be $350, miss." He mumbled: apparently my domination hadn't killed his business sense.

I counted out the bills in front of him; the little voice in my head was whispering that I really didn't need to pay him, but my scruples wouldn't let me do that.

"What name should I put the room under?" The clerk inquired, obviously retreating into the comfort of autopilot.

"Cleopatra Jones." I responded. His eyes flicked up to my face doubtfully, but he dutifully entered it in the computer. I was really going to have to think of a better last name; too many people seemed to know the reference, even if I didn't.

"Do you have any laptops I can use? Is there internet access?" I fingered the ipod in my pocket while I asked this, hoping I could finally get something worth listening to.

"All rooms come with wireless access, Miss…Jones. Allow me to sign out a laptop to you." The side-effects of domination seemed to be wearing off, and he was becoming more officious. The clerk straightened his suit and unlocked a cupboard behind him, pulling out a cased laptop. I clutched it greedily: yay, music!

After entering more data in the computer, he handed me my swipe card and turned away, obviously wanting to forget about this whole incident. Jubilant, I trotted over to the elevators, head whirling with the thought of all the luxuries that awaited me. Shower, bed, tv and internet! Pity the mini-bar would be stocked with alcohol instead of blood packs. Surprisingly, there was another person taking the elevator at this late (early?) hour: a big beefy tough looking character in dark slacks and t-shirt. His face was scarred and it looked as if his nose had been broken one too many times. We looked each other over, and I noticed the bulge at his waistband which signalled he was carrying a gun.

"Which floor?" He asked me in a thick east-European accent.

I checked my card, "Third floor please."

He tapped a couple of buttons and the elevator doors slid closed with a hiss. Deciding the opportunity was too good to miss, I sidled over to him and looked up at his face. He looked down at me and I beckoned him closer, doing my best to exude sexuality. Once he was nearer my level I grabbed behind his head and plunged my fangs into his neck. His hands convulsed once, reaching for his gun, but then the blood trance took over, and I fed on him without interruption. All too soon there sounded the soft ping indicating we'd reached the third floor, and I backed away from him as the doors slid open again. He stood there unmoving, eyes closed. Licking the blood off my fangs, I reached back into the elevator and pushed the door close button, hoping that he would wake up when he reached his floor.

My footsteps made no noise as I padded along the thickly carpeted corridor. There was a window at the end of it, and I could see the grey light of the real dawn casting shadows inside. I was running out of time. Quickening my pace, I peered at each room number. Finally I found mine, swiped the card and stepped inside.

The first thing I noticed was that the curtains and blinds were open wide and light was starting to edge its way across the floor. Snarling reflexively I bounded over and swung the curtains shut, then searched for the stick that controlled the blinds and twisted them shut too. With a sigh of relief, I let my gaze wander around the room, taking in my temporary kingdom. I seemed to associate green as an interior colour with institutions, but this actually made the room feel quite calm and restful. The walls were wallpapered in several shades of pale mint green, while the wall to wall carpet was a much darker sea green. This was offset by the raw sienna colour of the wood accents and door. The furniture and textiles were either a more muted green or red depending on its material. It should have looked a little too Christmassy, but surprisingly, it all worked together.

The large bed looked very inviting, but I decided I really wanted to be clean first. I placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of my door, carefully bolted it inside, placed my sword under the piled pillows on the bed, and then started shedding clothes on my way to the bathroom.

Unless you've been in a situation where you were unable to shower for some time, you can't identify with how I felt when I took in all the wonderfully sparkling surfaces and deep fluffy white towels. There was a lingering smell of soap and deodorant, and I ran my fingers lovingly over all the mini-bottles of shampoo, conditioner, bubble bath and whatnots provided by the hotel. The bathroom was pretty huge; big enough for a nicely sized bath. Humming softly to myself with anticipation I plugged it and started to run the water extra hot. Turning to reach for the bubble bath, I caught a glimpse of myself in the wall-wide mirror and cringed a little: even without being able to see my face in detail, I looked rough. My hair was all tangled and streaked with dirt, and there were still smears of dried blood on my body from my last fight days ago. It was a nice little body though, I thought to myself, not too scrawny, not too voluptuous. Too short, but oh well. Feeling a little self-conscious I cupped my breasts and pouted for the mirror. A misty vision of Nines Rodriguez' face floated in front of me: the silver glint in his pale eyes contrasting so strongly with his dark skin. I felt a flush of lust and pushed it away grimly.

"Ugh, you have more important things to think about than unrequited crushes." I said to myself out loud, jumping a little as my voice echoed around the room. Splashing water behind me warned that the bath was filling up fast. I dumped some bubble bath in and swirled it around a bit before lowering myself slowly into the bitingly hot water. It was heaven. I let myself slide down to the bottom with my head underwater, hair floating around me like bleached seaweed.

I spent a happy hour in the bath, and took my time getting out of it. Wrapped in puffy white towels and the complimentary bath robe – one size fits all, and so big the hem brushed the ground – I sauntered out to the bedroom and switched on the tv. Piling my clothes in a heap, I wondered if the hotel had laundry I could use. By this time true daylight was peeping around the cracks in the blinds, making me just a little nervous.

Sitting on the bed watching morning cartoons, I fired up the laptop and shook my head in disgust. No peer to peer software installed. By the time I'd finished fiddling with it and had some good tunes downloaded the chinks of light were warmer and brighter, and I was yawning my head off. I wriggled under the smooth cool sheets and sighed with pleasure as I let myself drift into sleep.

It was dark when I woke, the flickering cold light of the tv making the shadows seem deeper. Feeling completely refreshed and relaxed, I stretched like a cat and puttered to the bathroom. Showering for the sheer joy of it rather than because I was dirty, I let my mind wander over the upcoming night. Laundry? Maybe tonight I should finally go and visit Larry's club-owning friend. Mustn't forget my fighting lesson: I was now under no illusions that I didn't need it.

A quick phone call to reception confirmed that both self-service and full service laundry were available. Since all I had was the bathrobe while my clothes were being laundered, I opted for full-service and gave the attendant a large tip when he picked up my very small pile of stuff. Another hour spent puttering with laptop and ipod and then I was ready: clean, laundered, prepared. I did consider wrapping the laptop up in the bathrobe and leaving with it, but on second thoughts decided that I might want to come back here in the future.

The night was warm when I stepped outside; the city lights seeming to pulse with extra intensity. It seemed busier on the streets than usual, but maybe that was just because it was still relatively early. Clubbers buzzed around the Confession club's cathedral building in groups and pairs: brightly coloured bees that chimed occasionally with the ringing of cell phones. I got some strange looks as I strode towards the big wooden double doors, but I didn't stop until the girl taking money, looked me up and down and put up her hand in a gesture to halt.

"I need to see some I.D." she said perfunctorily.

"No, you really don't." I answered, giving her just a touch of domination. She regarded me sulkily and then put out her hand for money.

"$15."

"Bloody robbery." I muttered under my breath as I handed it over. She rolled her eyes and turned her back on me.

I headed into the club and looked around. It was quite well-done, retaining most of the original fittings and sacred chandeliers. The dance floor was a cross made of blocks of clear glass or plastic, with red lights shining under them. This unusual lighting made the dancers look very ethereal and waifish.

Closer to the entrance along one side was a long bar, backed with gleaming bottles. Behind it stood a bored looking woman in her late 20s, with teased black hair, too much eyeliner and black lipstick. As I approached her I saw the glint of her nose ring, and took in the fact that she was wearing tight pvc booty shorts with fishnet tights.

"Hello luv, what can I get you?" she asked when I put my elbows on the bar.

"I need to speak to Venus." I responded.

The woman pouted and went into what was obviously a pre-arranged spiel. "M' name's Venus: the one and only Beat Priestess, the Gothic Goddess of your dreams. I've a drink to wash away every sin, so step right up and start confessin'."

A little taken aback by this nonsense, I raised my eyebrows. "Larry sent me. He said you had a problem, and maybe I could help you."

"Larry! So you're the Cleopatra Jones he's been talking about. Pleased to meet you luv!" She poured me a shot of Sambuca and pushed it towards me. "On the house, dear. Well, I would never have thought it, but Larry says you can kick some serious arse. Did he tell you about my little problem then?"

Gingerly I pretended to sip the Sambuca, although the smell of it made me want to gag. "No, he just said you had a problem that might need my…ah, special skills." I flashed a beaming smile at her.

Venus made a hair-tossing motion which didn't quite work, because it was hair-sprayed as stiff as a rock. "Right then, here's the deal." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I had to take out a bit of a loan when I started this place, and ever since then, the bloke who gave me the money has been breathing down my neck. Whenever I'm late on the interest payments, he takes his cut out of my hide." She shuddered, and clenched her fists on the bar top. "I'll be blunt: I'm sick of having to fuck that stinking needle-dick minger. I want _you_ to get him off my back. Interested?"

I traced my finger around the top of the shot glass, staring out over the dance floor. "You're not telling me everything." I noted.

Sighing, she rested her chin on her hands. "He's a big shot in the Russian Mafia: does that make a difference?"

I gave her a look. "How many men: how many guns?"

"He has the penthouse floor to himself. I dunno; at least 10 men, and they all carry guns. They all look pretty tough." She fumbled in her pocket and showed a swipe card to me eagerly. "But look, I can get you in there. Please say you'll do it: you're my last chance." I could've sworn she was trying to bat her eyelashes at me.

I took the swipe card, and remembered the scarred man I'd fed from in the hotel elevator. "Empire Hotel right?" She nodded, looking a little scared. "Ok, what do I get for all this?"

"I'll give you his cut and make you a silent partner." Then she grinned. "I'll throw in my services as personal shopper and stylist for free."

Rolling my eyes, I shoved the swipe card in my pocket. In my opinion, Venus was hardly in a position to be judging my 'style', but as long as she gave me the money, I was prepared to do this. The memory of my last fight had faded enough that I felt confident I could handle a bunch of humans. I didn't even stop to think how odd it was that I wasn't getting that familiar sense of dread at the thought of violence. I just wanted to get the cash, so I could spend another night in the lap of luxury. It's a slippery slope…

Pushing the untouched drink back towards her, I slid off the bar stool and walked purposefully out of the club. My mind was already trying to plan the best way to deal with this mission.


	17. Taster not an update

Sorry, this is not a new chapter, more an explanation. Life has been kicking my arse a bit lately and I just haven't been able to write. Ever started writing a piece of fiction and then realised that your subconscious had completely taken it over? This story has started morphing into amalgams and allegories of people and situations I knew a long time ago. It makes it difficult.

I do plan to take this up again, I just need to work some stuff through first, I guess. I had written a lot of later scenes already, so here is a taster of Cleo's future.

* * *

(She was so fast right off the start that before I even knew what was going on, she'd slit my belly open wide with her claws. The shock of it burned me like ice: I let out a yell and doubled over, calling my blood powers to me as I did so. As my blood magic forced her to puke vitae again and again, I gathered what little strength I had left and beheaded her. I fell to my knees in her ashes, shock and pain overcoming me. My blood washed over my hands; I felt excruciating pain when my fingers touched the ropey texture of my intestines. I'll never know how I managed it, but pure will sent me crawling and floundering through vents until I reached the sewers. It was a never-ending nightmare to pull myself along, sometimes staggering sometimes crawling, next to the noisome sewage water. Over and over I said that I didn't want to die: I wasn't alive, but I still didn't want to die. It seemed an eternity, and I was terrified that all the blood I was losing would kill me before I got there, but finally I pulled myself up out of the sewer grate and into the back alley of the Last Round.

Faint and confused I dragged myself past the back door and through the first door I saw. It turned out to be the men's washroom, but I had reached the end of my inner resources. The linoleum floor felt blessedly cool as my cheek touched it. Ostensibly I told myself that I was just resting, gathering myself to go out there and ask for help, but deep within I could tell that only fresh blood would see me ever getting up off that floor again.

I must have passed out, because I came to with the door banging against my foot. I heard the well-known voice of Jack somewhere above me, "Ohhh, will you look at that. What the fuck happened to you, kiddo?" Gently he rolled me onto my side. Part of my guts flopped onto the linoleum tiles and the breath whistled past my teeth as I screamed without voice.

I could hear the wince in his voice when he spoke, "Shit. Hang in there girl."

He manoeuvred me onto my back and pressed my hands against my belly to hold everything in. Waves of agony rolled over me and the lights dimmed. It seemed like an instant but again time must have passed. The light brightened again and I was still on that floor, but now cradled against a man's body.

"Turn away then. I'm not letting this one go." I heard Nines' voice finishing an unheard conversation. My head was tilted back so that the lights became blinding, and his red-brown forearm hovered above me. A long wound spilt blood from it into my mouth. I didn't even have the strength to swallow, but the blood slid easily down my throat.

I was only semi-conscious as I felt myself carried down stairs, and each jostle or bump made me fade in and out.

Was it a dream? I don't know. I experienced it so vividly, but who can tell. I was floating

pressed against the room's ceiling, looking down at myself twisted on the bed. My gaze took in a pile of crumpled empty blood packs. Standing over my prone form were Jack and Nines. As I watched, Nines pressed his forearm against my mouth, dribbling more blood into it. He shook his head with a gesture of despair and utter exhaustion. "It's not working; it's not enough." he said. Although he looked up at Jack, from my angle on the ceiling I still couldn't see his eyes.

Jack started to shrug non-committally and then stopped. He sighed and massaged his wrist. "Well, fuck, why not. Let's go the whole way and make this a proper little Sabbat vaulderie. Kid'll be more'n half a Brujah by the time you're done, and if the Cam find out, they'll burn us all, but fuck, why the hell not." He wagged an admonishing finger at Nines. "Just remember: you owe me." Stone-faced, Nines moved aside to let Jack closer to the bed. Quickly and efficiently Jack used a fingernail to slash a line of crimson from his wrist, squeezing it into my mouth. It was the weirdest sensation to taste the blood in my mouth while I watched as a silent observer from the ceiling. But Jack's vitae worked: as I felt it diffuse into my body, I grew heavier and found my ceiling self drifting back into my body. A great weariness filled me, and I fell into sleep.

"….and you shall be my sword…" A whisper in the darkness, ending on a hiss that faded into waking. I opened my eyes. I was lying on my back in that bed, but the lights were off. Only the barest chink of daylight showed through the boarded up basement windows. I heard the regular heavy breath of someone sleeping near me. Afraid to move, I turned my head slowly until I could see beside the bed. It was Nines, sitting asleep in a hard plastic chair, slouched with his hands on his thighs and his head back. A bloodstained rag was wound around his forearm. I scanned his face: he looked terrible, dark circles under his eyes and a haggard drawn expression. I noticed for the first time how long his eyelashes were, jet black against the rich tone of his skin.

Cautiously I tried to sit up, and sank back with a gasp of pain, feeling a line of raging fire across my stomach.

The sound caused Nines to jerk awake, rocking the chair on its back legs. He sighed and blinked, rubbing his face with his hand. Focusing on me, he came over quickly, hands pressing me back into the bed by my shoulders.

"Don't move. I'm not going through all this shit just so you can fuck yourself up again." He ordered. He laid one palm on my forehead and looked me over wearily. The silver sheen of his eyes seemed painfully bright against the dark hollows of his eye sockets.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the effort was too much, all that came out was a low gasp. I blinked and exhaled a sigh, but I could already feel my body slipping away again. As the darkness gathered at the edges of my vision I heard him say, "Don't try to talk. Drink; sleep." My eyes closed: I tasted drops of his blood on my lips and licked them with a tongue which felt as heavy as concrete.)


	18. Trouble with Russians

Sorry it's been so long everyone. And thanks to everyone who has read this, faved, alerted or commented :) Well, I worked some stuff out, laid some demons to rest and all that. No happy endings, but maybe just a smidge of redemption. This is a very short chapter - more of a teaser, but I think I'm going to start dealing with Cleo's travails again, and hey, the Xmas holidays are coming up. Thanks again for hanging in there.

Update: made this into almost a normal length chapter :) Also been doing some related visual stuff on Deviantart - check out Cleo and Kiss at my deviantart account (account name is Nienor - it won't let me add the full link for some reason)

* * *

I was feeling light as air as I tripped along the dark streets, rocking the techno on my ipod. It was hard to hold myself to human behaviour, and I wondered briefly if my unknown sire had been part Malkavian on the sly. The coming confrontation seemed like a euphoric adventure. Each cluster of lights I passed glowed and fluttered with vibrant colour. Vampire adrenaline was the best drug.

Of course, this feeling couldn't last long, and by the time I reached the hotel and was trying to figure out a game plan, I was experiencing that familiar niggling emotion that I really _wasn't_ immortal, and sooner or later, I was going to end up a messy little pile of ashes.

The night clerk gave me a death look when I entered. I could've sworn Domination wasn't supposed to leave the victim remembering, but he certainly seemed to. But he was also wise enough not to call security, and contented himself with dirty looks and angry paper-shuffling. Feeling like a total heel, I hunched my shoulders apologetically and shrugged as I moved past him.

The elevator was cool and bathed in cold fluorescent light. The mirrored sides reflected my shadow, but I tried not to look at my distorted image. Street-kid, immortal killer, pawn in a dark game; none of these matched how I thought of myself inside. For the first time in weeks, I felt a flood of unreality wash over me. Being a vampire seemed so utterly unreal. However, taking an elevator to tell a Russian mob boss something he definitely didn't want to hear, that seemed all too real.

I pawed the sword hilt protruding from my back for reassurance. If I screwed this one up, Venus would be the one paying the full price.

The lift whispered to a halt, and the door slid open. I was just about to step outside, when I realised I was on the wrong floor. Frowning, I pressed the close button, and then a pair of mad cobalt blue eyes caught mine from outside. I started and looked round at the slender woman regarding me coolly. She was exquisite: intense blue eyes, cropped wispy red hair surrounding a pixie face. But she was a vampire, and she was holding up another, human, woman by the arm. This woman looked drugged and sickly, a sheen of perspiration on her grey skin. The vampire opened her mouth to say something, and in that moment, the elevator door slid shut, and I was moving upwards again.

Shaken by this chance meeting, I half-hid behind the door when it opened again. I hadn't reckoned on there being other vampires about.

Quiet hotels have a special quality of silence to them: all those plush carpets and closed doors. Feeling a bit silly, I nevertheless found myself tiptoeing along the corridors in search of Boris's suite. My brief conversation with Venus hadn't really included many details, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to talk him into seeing her side of things. Sliding into a half-crouch, I pulled my sword from its sheath; its quiet hiss of anticipation echoing along the walls.

Sure enough, I rounded a corner to a dead end: double doors, with a beefy looking guard in front of them. He made no attempt to disguise the automatic weapon in his hands. He wore a communication headset and the kind of clothes that don't show blood, and when he turned my way, I laughed. By some strange synergy, it was the man I'd fed on in the elevator.

"Small world." I said, and grinned, holding my blade loosely in my hand.

He was pro enough not to show any surprise he might've felt, and merely pointed the gun more firmly in my direction.

"Vot do you want?" He asked, sliding between Russian and American accent.

"Your boss." There didn't seem any point in beating around the bush, but I was still hoping he would be smart and walk away: I felt a weird affinity to him.

He shook his head regretfully, and I knew he felt the same way. Sometimes there's really no reason why we connect with someone, but it still happens, and in that instant, it's as if we've known them all our lives. Pity it looked like we were going to have to kill one another.

I tilted my head to one side, and he chose that moment to shoot me. Burning my blood for power, I dodged the hail of lead and leapt inside his guard. I'd meant to cleave him from shoulder to hip, but that shred of affinity prevented me, and I found myself smacking his head hard against the door. He crumpled like tin, but he was still breathing. I groaned at my stupidity: why did I always do this? Why did I just seem to find it impossible to kill some humans?

The noise disturbed the room's occupant, but the doors didn't open. Boris obviously wasn't stupid. I burned more blood for auspex and saw the quavering light of his aura flame into view. He was hunched down behind something – probably a desk - with a machine gun in his hands. I hesitated: he probably wouldn't be able to kill me before I got to him, but I knew it would bloody hurt if I walked straight through that door.

Suddenly there was a flurry of high-pitched beeping sounds coming from behind every door on that floor, and I realised my target had set off some kind of alarm. Already I could hear the sounds of his cronies moving in response.

Grimacing with anticipation, I kicked open the door, and immediately rolled forward to try and avoid the bullets. One grazed my hairline on the way down, stinging like a bastard, but otherwise he totally missed. Feeling a spike of adrenalin I leapt to my feet and swung my sword wildly, not even really looking where I was aiming. There was a crunching sensation and a gout of blood hit me in the face. A whining gurgle told me poor Boris wasn't dead yet, so I yanked out the sword, wiped the blood out of my eyes and beheaded him. My first strike had bisected his face, and the whole thing was pretty sickening, but I still licked the blood of my hands and face with absent-minded habit.

The corridor behind me was abuzz with voices and the sound of movement. I sighed: I did not feel like having to deal with a bunch of mob soldiers. Surely there was another way? I closed the double doors and glanced around the plush room hurriedly, trying to figure out an escape route. Specifically, I was looking for an air-conditioning vent big enough to crawl through. This room was a dead loss, but when I dashed into the bedroom, the closet door was open, revealing a vent. I sighed again, with relief this time. From the sounds of it, Boris's erstwhile employees were trying to bash the door in. No time to lose. I wiped my sword on the bed in passing, leaving a big bloody smear, and sheathed it while I crawled into the vent.

It turned out to be one of those annoying vents that were just an arm of a main vertical artery. Scrabbling my knees as I crawled along I made a grab for the maintenance ladder rung and missed. I fell into the artery with an ignominious 'plop' and slid at least a floor and a half before I managed to get my smarting fingers around another rung. Now some of the blood on my hands was mine, and a ripped fingernail was a dull throb of pain.

"Bloody hell!" My curses echoed along the long tunnel as I lowered myself to street level.

I wasn't sure whether to feel pleased with myself or grumpy as I trotted along the street away from the hotel. On the one hand, I'd survived and completed my objective. On the other hand, I'd left a living witness, screwed up being able to sleep in that cushy hotel, and was once again covered in blood. I looked down, and groaned. All that crawling and falling had torn a hole in one knee of my shorts. I must look like some demented school kid straight out of 'Lord of the Flies' or something. I quickened my pace to a jog, and sped into Venus's club without even slowing down for the irate door-girl.

Venus took one look at me, walked purposefully from behind the bar and propelled me towards a stairwell with a hand on my arm. "Luv, I thought you'd at least have a bit of a wash before you came back!" she exclaimed. "Let's talk in my office."

She led me upstairs and into a very red room with no windows. The wallpaper was red velvet: Victorian Gothic style, with a matching red carpet. Furniture consisted of a desk and chair, chaise lounge and a beautifying corner with floor length mirror, red and black lacquered room divider and vanity table with another mirror and little lights all around it. Peeking out from behind the divider were open duffle bags with a muddle of black clothing spilling out of them. It looked like a Goth pop star's change room, and I suppose in a way it was.

Once I was inside, Venus shut the door and turned to look at me, hands on hips.

"Is that Boris's blood, then, or yours, dear?" she smirked.

"Both." I shrugged, and wiped my hand on my shirt. It didn't make much difference.

Venus suddenly grinned, and the whole jaded Lady of the Night act dropped from her. This made her look a lot younger, and in my opinion, a lot prettier. It was obvious a huge weight of stress was now gone from her.

"Well, I guess that makes us partners then." She walked over to the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a bulging envelope. "Here's your cut. Take my advice, buy yourself a new outfit. Oh, this is just great. Now I can afford that new DJ everyone's talking about; he's supposed to be just amazing!"

I gritted my teeth a little at these inanities while I counted the cash. $600. Not a bad haul for an hour's work. My eye lit on the clothes spilling out of the bags in the corner.

"How about those?" I asked, gesturing towards them. "Want to sell me some clothes?"

Venus giggled, "We're hardly the same size, luv." she pointed out, and glanced at my chest with some emphasis.

Trying not to blush, I stammered, "I-I don't mind if it's a bit loose, I'm used to that. I just want something clean."

Eyeing me professionally, Venus started to pull out various items and hold them up against me. It took a bit before she came up with something we could both agree on – there was a black velvet mini-dress that I had a hard time rejecting, but it was just too impractical. Finally I dodged behind the room divider, and changed into the black tank top and leggings she'd picked out for me. The top was really loose and the leggings were a little more form-revealing than I'd hoped for, but at least they weren't covered with blood.

"I'll go and throw these in the alleyway when you're gone." Venus said about my old clothes, stuffing them in a plastic bag with a look of distaste.

"Wait, do you have a hoody or jacket or something?" I touched the sheathed sword strapped to my back.

With a 'hmm' she dived back into the bags and pulled out a black hoody with a punctured heart embroidered on the breast.

"Heroin chic is always in style here, luvvy." She commented as she threw it to me.

Raising an eyebrow, I put it on and then twirled in front of the mirror, hoping that she wouldn't notice the facial distortions in my reflection.

Venus tapped her feet while she watched me. "Busy busy, dear. If that's all, I really must be getting back to the floor. Come back in a couple of nights and I'll give you your cut."

It nettled me a bit to be treated like a common minion by a human, but now that I had money and clothes, there wasn't much point in sticking around. I nodded perfunctorily in her direction and left.

There was a gaggle of clubbers outside The Confession, and one of them was too high to answer their very annoying cell phone. Oh. It was me. Fumbling with embarrassment, I pressed the button and LaCroix's snotty voice leapt out at me.

"Really, this is becoming intolerable!" I heard the suave tones of his voice contract in annoyance. "I gave you this phone so that you would be on call. Lest you forget, you are still indebted to me, childe."

Resisting the urge to say 'whatever' and hang up, I contented myself with giving the blank phone face the finger, and then tried to modulate my voice to sound contrite and cooperative.

"I'm really sorry, I was just in the middle of something. What's up?"


	19. LaCroix Shows his Hand

This chapter could be longer and better-written, but I'm sick, and really, this is sort of an interim chapter on the road to where I want this story to go. I'd love some more reviews, or any constructive critisicm. I notice from my stats that a lot of people read the first chapter and then don't get much further, so if anyone can offer me a reason for that, I'd love to hear it. Thanks again for any input!

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"Come to my office immediately. We will talk then." LaCroix hung up abruptly.

Shaking my head with annoyance, I pocketed the phone again, and started walking. Hopefully the Prince would make it short; I had a feeling Rodriguez' patience was wearing thin when it came to me missing appointments.

The chubby night guard was there again, stuffing his face with donuts. Not even bothering to wipe the crust of sugar from his jowls, he waved me through to the elevators.

I tried to gather my self while the elevator hummed upwards. At least I was wearing clean clothes, and a touch of lick and spit seemed to get rid of the last of Boris's blood from my face. I just hoped LaCroix didn't have another suicidal mission for me.

LaCroix was back at his desk again, signing papers. I wondered why he didn't have some minion to do that for him: did he really find it that hard to delegate?

His nostrils flared before he even registered my presence, and he put the fountain pen down on the table with a sharp snap.

"Did I not already give you instructions about how to comport yourself around me? Must you always run around looking like some thug's escort?" Here he stood up, leaning his fingers on the desk. He did not seem pleased. "Your association with those Anarch lowlifes does not serve you well. I tire of your childish idiosyncrasies."

Feeling defensive and weary, I tried to justify myself. "I'm trying to survive the only way I know how." I said, "And the Anarchs are the only people so far who seem interested in helping me do that." Anger started to rush through me and I straightened up, fists clenching.

LaCroix's eyes took on a hooded quality of calculation. "Yes, we will get to that in a minute." He walked over to the large fire on one side of the room, and made a show of warming his hands against it. "But first, my operatives have informed me that the sarcophagus has been moved to the Los Angeles Museum. Against my better instincts, I am giving you another chance to bring it to me."

I didn't bother to hide my groan of despair. "I can't do it, you know I can't. Why don't you ever ask me to do stuff that's more my level? This is just another way to get me killed." As my mouth closed, I realised exactly what I'd said. Uhoh. I checked LaCroix's face quickly for signs of anger, but there was nothing, only smooth contempt.

Then his lips stretched in a slow smile, and I cringed inside at the cruelty of it.

"Cherie," he looked at me through half-closed eyes, like a large cat gloating over a mouse, "I am generous enough to give you many chances…according to your abilities. You have the chance to bring me the sarcophagus – unopened. You also have the chance to be of use to me in another fashion…" He moved away from the fire and back to the desk, his hand brushing the shoulder of the Sherriff as he passed behind him. In a normal person, it would have looked like a simple gesture of affection between friends, but in LaCroix it seemed like a signal of some sort. I tensed, not knowing what to expect.

"Your association with the Anarchs, and that fool Rodriguez, is a direct affront to my authority. However, I am never one to pass up an opportunity, and his weakness can be turned to my advantage." He stared straight into my eyes, and all of a sudden, I felt the flow of domination stream out towards me. Obey, obey, it whispered, insinuating itself into my mind.

"Get to the point." I croaked thickly.

LaCroix laughed smoothly. "Very well, fledgling." He directed a searing bolt of domination at me, making me sway on my feet. "I wish you to continue your friendship with Rodriguez. Learn his plans, his thoughts, his deepest…desires. You will report all these back to me, in every detail. You will be my spy in his house…"

The force of his control made me shake. You will Obey, it said, coiling around my thoughts like a dark snake. I felt a surge of disgust and futile anger. How could I do this? How could I betray the only person who had actually tried to help me? How could I not, whispered LaCroix's power; for it is so much easier to obey.

No, I won't, I won't, I whispered desperately inside. I won't betray my friends.

I focused my sense of self into a hard knot and pushed against LaCroix's domination. Something snapped, and suddenly I was screaming, "I won't! I won't do it!" The effort of it made me shudder. LaCroix recoiled from me, and then recovered his composure. He clicked his fingers. The Sherriff shifted from his position of guard, and in a movement too quick for me to follow, smacked me flying across the room. I skidded on my side across the plush carpet. Before I could regain my feet he was on me, heavy foot pressing my face into the floor while he grabbed my arm behind me. He straightened it to an impossible angle. I opened my mouth to yell and changed it to a shriek as he bent my arm beyond what even vampire bones could take. There was a loud wet snap, and pain exploded in that limb. The world went grey. Somewhere in the haze I felt the Sherriff drop my broken arm and twist up the other.

"Yield." From the other side of the room came LaCroix's implacable voice.

I whimpered. "Ok, ok! I yield! Please! Please don't hurt me anymore! I'll do whatever you say!" I wish I could've reported that I was a true stoic, but I was actually a snivelling grovelling wreck. The limpness of my arm made me want to puke.

"I will give you 2 days to heal your arm, and then I want to see that box, along with your first report on our mutual friend. Fail me again, and I will let mon amie here have his way with you." Here the Sherriff twisted my good arm a little further, while I whimpered into the carpet.

"You may go." LaCroix sounded bored, like a child tiring of a new toy. The Sherriff released me, and I crawled shakily to the doors, using them to pull myself up. I couldn't look back at them, but I could feel their gazes: LaCroix's smug and cruel, the Sherriff impassive as stone.

The lights of the elevator seemed to swim around me as I descended to street level. I clutched my limp arm tight to my body, willing myself to stay upright. I looked within for the signs of LaCroix's domination, but interestingly enough, I couldn't find it. Was I just too hurt to tell? Or had my resistance shattered his spell without his knowledge?

Stumbling through the streets was a nightmare of pain, every footstep jolting my injured arm. All I could think about was getting to my 'haven', that cold metal tunnel which offered some kind of safety. When I reached it, I crawled inside like a wounded animal retreating to its lair. Only then did I allow myself the luxury of tears. I told myself I was wasting precious blood, but they still trickled down my cheeks into my hair, as I lay there curled up, body shuddering with racking sobs.

I'd thought the pain would prevent me sleeping, but my vampire body wanted to heal, and so it was that I suddenly snapped awake to the sound of a revving engine from the carpark below. Somehow I knew I'd slept at least one day. I was ravenous, but weak as a kitten. My need for blood propelled me forward, but crawling with one hand left me shaking with effort, and every time I stumbled, agony lanced up my broken arm.

I half-fell out of my vent into the alleyway, using the brick wall to haul myself upright. Blood! I needed blood so badly, I could feel the beast of frenzy clawing its way up my throat. I could hear someone growling and with a shock, realised it was me. I stumbled to the end of the alleyway, lurking in the shadows. Before long, a young clubber wandered past. I yanked on his arm, pulling him off-balance towards me. Without finesse I managed to press him to the ground. My first instinct was to tear at his throat, but at the last instant I forced myself to pierce his neck neatly, feeding only until he passed out. I was determined not to let the beast take control and trick me into killing an innocent.

His lifeblood made me feel a little better, shake a little less, but I knew it wasn't enough. If I wanted to heal my arm, I needed someone else. Propping him into a seated position against the wall, I went back to my lurking wait.

It took awhile for the next human to walk past, and I was already contemplating throwing morals to the wind and just draining the unconscious clubber dry. Luckily for him, my next target was healthy and full of rich blood: even if it did take me a bit of a struggle to get through the Government-issue containment suit. As soon as I lowered my second victim to the ground, his blood pulsing through me, I started thinking about how I probably shouldn't have done that. Feeding on government officials would probably attract unwelcome attention. I shrugged; I hadn't killed either of them, and although they would definitely both be confused waking up side by side in an alleyway, there was no permanent damage done.

Feeling a little better, but still weak and in pain, I crawled back to my vent and slunk inside. Contracting into a foetal position, I tried to will my arm to heal, but I just didn't know how to do it. Eventually I slipped into an uneasy sleep.

…I still lay curled in on myself, but the claustrophobic vent was replaced by open ground, dark and dank. Raising my head, I saw the dark clouds rushing by, smelled the strange smell of moisture in a desert. Fear overwhelmed me; I cowered down, burying my face in the crook of my good arm. All around me was a great silence, broken only by a subtle noise; the sound of someone or something snuffling as they crawled towards me. The hairs on the nape of my neck rose with terror as I listened: closer and closer the shuffling came towards me from behind. Desperately I tried to will myself to sit up, but just as I urged my body to spring away, a cold hand came down on my naked shoulder. The stink of carrion breath wafted over me.

A voice whispered in my ear, so soft I could've mistaken it for my own thought. "Childe…."


End file.
